


face the music

by charlie_mou



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Ableism, Ableist Language, Deaf Steve Harrington, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sign Language, Steve Harrington Has Bad Parents, hearing loss, i lied there's some angst too, this will be mainly fluff i think
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-24
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:54:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23290534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charlie_mou/pseuds/charlie_mou
Summary: At least Steve can just close his eyes and pretend Billy isn't spouting bullshit. Or he can deliberately not read his lips and just stare at how pink they are and nod when Billy expects him to."Are you even listening to me?" Billy asks him. He must have stopped talking at some point but Steve really isn't paying attention."I couldn't listen to you even if I wanted to."Or, Steve has a hearing impairment and somehow Billy doesn't see it as a problem and fits himself into Steve's life anyway.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington & The Party
Comments: 100
Kudos: 696





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A little bit of disclaimer here. I worked with deaf people and I'm friends with deaf people (I went to inclusive schools, was a hearing volunteer) but I'm not deaf and my main SL is Polish and I started learning British SL like, 2 weeks before the lockdown so mind you, I may make mistakes when it comes to ASL or generally portraying hearing problems. If you see such a thing, I'll be glad if you correct me.  
> And saying that, being deaf is experienced differently by different people. What is portrayed here is based on a dear friend of mine who was born with hearing impairment that progressed throughout her life, who had a major change in her hearing in middle school after a sport accident. People born completely deaf, raised in deaf community, or by deaf parents have different experiences. I'm also new to English deaf community so I may use terms that are appropriate in Polish circles but not appropriate in English, deaf cultures are also different depending on countries (or even states, since we're talking about USA). Not to mention it's the 80s so there are general differences that one would attribute to that time period. (Although, in my opinion, not enough progress has been made when it comes to how deaf community is treated by hearing community.)  
> If you find something that seems not appropriate, do tell, I'd love to know.

Steve is defective, this much is clear to him since he's six.

Steve's hearing is fucked up from the beginning. Not that anyone notices for the first couple of years, his parents don't care from the start—Steve is very quiet as a baby and, at first, his mom takes it as a blessing. Then, she gets bored.

The first person who has noticed Steve doesn't respond to sounds like a normal child is his nanny—an old Latino lady with maternal instincts to rival even the most caring mothers, not to mention Steve's. She notices Steve doesn't react to sounds like other kids, rarely gets scared at loud noises and is rather quiet himself, notices that Steve doesn't hear the timer going off in the kitchen or the ads on the TV getting louder.

She gets fired for even just suggesting there is something wrong with Steve. Steve is supposed to be the perfect child, no flaws, no blemishes.

She is the first person to suggest that but not the last one. Another three nannies are fired before Steve's parents decide there might have been some truth there, that maybe Steve isn't a perfect quiet child that makes no trouble.

Steve is five during his first doctor appointment and the doctor is completely astonished that no one noticed the hearing impairment Steve was born with until he was almost six.

He lost about seventy-five percent of his hearing in his left ear and thirty in his right.

Steve's parents try to fix him with their money. One experimental surgery, then another, and another one, and an experimental hearing implant that makes Steve throw up with the shrieking noise it produces at random—and it's too much, and they finally give up. Steve gets his big, bulky and ugly hearing aids that can't really be hidden, gets his speech therapy, gets to learn reading lips and even gets to learn ASL—it's more useless than anything, his parents never bother to learn sign, too busy pretending Steve isn't broken—gets to have private tutors for some time, gets home-schooled.

Truth is, his education is screwed-up from the start. When his parents are busy fixing him, Steve misses his first six years of education—home-schooling teachers leave him handouts, worksheets and books to read but Steve is in some stupid hospital in Sweden or in Canada or in New York, with his mom being too busy complaining how miserable she is because she has to deal with her handicapped son to help him with his assignments and homework. He knows he has dyslexia but his father doesn't believe in it— _it's just an excuse for being stupid, Steven_ —in the same way he doesn't believe in Steve's hearing loss, like Steve can just snap out of it and hear again.

He's lucky, he supposes, that he wasn't born completely deaf. That he can train himself to pretend he's normal and not defective, that he got to hear his own voice, that he is not ashamed of speaking, that with his hearing aids he can clearly hear screams and normal tones and sometimes even glimpses of close whispers, if it's his right ear. He's lucky his parents had the money for the tutors and he's lucky he could learn everything a deaf person needs with the relief that he won't have to use it on a daily basis. He's met deaf kids, kids that never got to hear The Police, kids that don't know the sound of the engine, kids that never heard their parents' voices.

He's defective but he's lucky enough that he can still pretend he isn't broken. Still has a chance to be perfect.

Steve goes to school for his freshman year. Like, legitly goes to school, to classes, to basketball practice, to the cafeteria. He has been strictly forbidden from wearing hearing aids in public or even mentioning his _defection_ , all the teachers are instructed to seat Steve at the front—so he can read their lips—and on the left of the classroom—so he has his better ear directed at the sounds. No one is to know Steve is hard of hearing.

He gets popular quickly, maybe he gets into the wrong crowd too but—but well, Tommy doesn't laugh when he sees Steve's ugly hearing aids and giggles when Steve shows him how to say _asshole_ in sign language. Maybe that's why Steve ignores how much of an actual asshole Tommy himself is—why he becomes an asshole too.

Then Nancy happens, Upside Down happens and well, Steve realizes not making fun of his hearing loss is a basic human decency and not something to be prized. It's something Nancy gives him freely, even though she doesn't learn ASL like Steve's seen couples doing for each other, even though she still forgets which of Steve's ears is the better one after a year of being together.

Then Upside Down gets back in town and Hargrove happens and the tunnels—

The tunnels happen and Steve loses his right ear. Well, not literally, but his hearing is pretty much gone. When he gets out of the tunnels, static noise hits him, gives him an instant headache, and he can't hear anyone's voice, except for Dustin's, who has been screaming at Steve the whole day and probably won't ever stop—even Dustin's voice is more of a hushed whisper than anything. He thinks it's the shock, for a couple of hours, but the next thing he knows, the buzzing stops and everything around Steve stills, there are no sounds.

He asks Hopper to call his parents and tell them to make an appointment for Steve's hearing and send him a fax with the time. It's not the shock.

His doctor always said he should be careful, that he could cause a bigger damage. He didn't even like Steve playing basketball, said it's too injury-prone, always said he could lose his hearing completely if he's not careful. Steve's never thought of it as an actual possibility.

Thirty percent turns into ninety and Steve gets a new hearing aid he will never wear. He should have been more careful.

He stops talking. He can't hear his own voice unless he's screaming so what's the point? He has a month of home-schooling, thanks to his doctor, that he is supposed to spend adjusting to the new hearing aid and further loss of hearing. He doesn't talk.

He doesn't talk. Doesn't play the music. Doesn't use the timer when he cooks. Doesn't bother.

Up until Dustin and the nerds—and Jane—show up on his doorstep with their D&D equipment asking Steve to teach them swearwords in sign—it's always the swearwords—while ruining his kitchen. They come in regularly, once or twice a week, spend at least half an hour learning ASL with Steve. There are a couple of mishaps when kids talk to him while he isn't looking at them and when kids move their lips slower—like Steve is a retard, like his dad does—and he can't read their lips if they do that and it's just irritating.

He doesn't wear his hearing aids around them. There's no point, really. He's past them being useful. 

He drives Dustin to the Snow Ball and sits on the hood with a flask of whiskey and waits. The music from the gym is booming, loud enough Steve can barely hear the humming and _hear_ the vibration, the rhythm. It's nice, normal even.

Billy realizes something is wrong when he meets Harrington at the Snow Ball, outside of Hawkins Middle School.

He has to drive _and_ pick up Maxine from that shitty ball and he sees Harrington's BMW as soon as he parks.

The thing is, Billy knows he went overboard that night at the Byers' house. Overboard is a euphemism, really, he went full-blown psycho, _like his own dad_.

It was a component of various things—Neil's outburst, Max getting him in trouble again, how weird the whole situation was—he still isn't sure what exactly was happening that night, even though Max said they were playing D&D when Will Byers had a seizure and his mom took him to the hospital while Steve babysat for her—and maybe it was, too, the irritation he feels every time he sees Steve and knows he can't have him.

He went overboard and he regrets that now, already apologized to Max—well, he bought her a new skateboard, it was better than just saying sorry—and he will apologize to Harrington, even if he can't have him the way he wants.

He's sitting on the hood of his car, fingers tapping softly in the rhythm of the music.

"Harrington," he calls out and gets completely ignored. "Harrington, I just want to talk."

He doesn't turn around, doesn't glare at Billy like he usually would and it ruffles Billy the wrong way, being ignored. He keeps his calm, wants to do this right.

"Okay, fair enough, I will do the talking."

He walks up to him, stopping at the side mirror of the BMW. Harrington leans back and humms and Billy takes it as a sign to continue.

"I crossed a line a month ago, I was out of control and took it out on you," he admits, wanting to be done with it. Admitting how fucked up he became is always harsh. Maybe a little bit too close to the painful truth, too, too close to admitting he's slowly turning into his dad. "It wasn't me, I never wanted to become someone like that and I promise I will never do that again. I'll never hurt you again."

When he doesn't answer, Billy adds, "I'm sorry."

Harrington humms, fingers tapping on the metal. Billy wants an answer—shouting, insults, acceptance, anything in actual words.

"What the fuck that means?" he spits out. "I'm forgiven or what?"

He doesn't say anything and Billy crosses his arms, shuffling on his feet.

"Harrington," he tries again, kicking the passenger door.

Harrington jumps at the noise and turns around so fast he loses his balance and falls down the hood with faint _Jesus Christ_ leaving his mouth.

Billy gives him a hand, feeling the deja vu, and Harrington looks at him with big confused eyes, blinking sweetly, but doesn't reach out.

"I told you, I won't bite," he says, sending him a smug grin that feels faker than usually. Harrington freezes, staring at Billy wide-eyed, like a deer caught in headlights.

Billy moves his hand again but it stays outstretched in the air even longer. Harrington doesn't even twitch.

"Fuck you, I won't say it again," he spits out because he _won't_ , he apologized once and Harrington can take it or leave it.

He storms out—storms _away—_ and takes out his cigarettes and decides he's going to fucking wait at the quarry.

Harrington is back at school after Christmas break and pisses Billy off within the first minute—he stands there, staring at Wheeler like she hung the moon and the stars while he doesn't even spare a glance at Billy.

Then Lit happens.

It's the first class of the day and Billy shares it with Harrington, the same for Calc, History and gym. Mrs. Hartman makes Harrington stand in front of the class. She looks nervous and Harrington observes her with the same scrutiny he gave Wheeler on the parking lot.

Mrs. Hartman clasps her hands, getting everyone's attention.

"There's been an accident that put one of your classmates in a difficult situation."

Billy's heart sinks and the words go over his head when Harrington fidgets, his gaze gathering the people in the room. Everyone is silent. Steve looks, just looks for a moment, and his fingers twitch.

He lifts his hand and makes a gesture at his chest and moves his palm down his cheek. Then, he licks his lips and says, "I'm deaf."

He is so _quiet_. So _small_.

Billy can't take his eyes off him.

"The school is setting up a buddy system for Steve, one person in each of his classes is to offer him their notes and additional help with classes, at least for some time," Mrs. Hartman continues when Harrington doesn't speak up again, staring into space. "Do we have any volunteers?"

Billy's hand raises up before he can even think about it. He does the same in Calc and History.

It's a bit more complicated after that. Instead of going to the gym, Billy spends that period with Steve's homeroom teacher who explains him the situation. Explains him Steve had an accident and lost most of his hearing in November but previously already had hearing impairment so he is adjusted to some degree, being able to read lips and sign, but will need more help with school work for some time at least, probably until graduation.

"Not everything can be easily translated from reading lips, Mr. Hargrove, Steve will need someone to correct his notes, explain him terms and exercises he missed," Steve's homeroom teacher says to him. "I can repeat myself countless times but our teachers will still say it's Steve's problem and won't accommodate his needs, I hoped some of Steve's friends would be more helpful."

"This happened before?" he asks, ignoring the mention of friends—they are not friends—because he's genuinely curious. He's been in Hawkins a little less than three months and he hasn't heard once about Harrington's hearing problem.

She gives him a bitter smile.

"Steve was home-schooled before high school, his parents are, well, _influential_." Billy knows what she means. Influential. Rich. Same thing. "They wanted to keep it quiet, asked our school to make some changes for him, but some of the teachers are petty. During his first year, I had to intervene six times because Steve's hearing ear is— _was_ his right and Mrs. Townley refused for him to seat on the left front of the class and he couldn't hear or see her."

She says it with pure frustration, like she's really had to do it countless times. Billy is still taken aback that Steve never even showed that he is— _was_ , he corrects himself the same way Steve's teacher does—partially deaf the whole time. Sure, he sometimes seemed to ignore people— _didn't hear them_ —and maybe sometimes he stared at people's faces for too long— _read their lips—_ but he would have never guessed.

"Here, it's a book from my own collection."

She hands him a worn out copy of _How to help students with hearing loss_.

"It's academic reading for teachers but it might help you understand what Steve is going through right now. He needs someone in the character of a student tutor but he also needs a friend who understands."

A _friend_. Billy could give him so much more.

Harrington is not pleased with Billy but doesn't say anything, just glares at Billy with every occasion. He doesn't even ask for Billy's notes.

So Billy comes to him, waits at the hood of his car while smoking cigarette after cigarette.

Harrington looks tired. There are bags under his eyes, he's even paler than usually and his gaze slides over people—Billy wonders if he hears, _reads_ what they're saying about him. He stills when he notices Billy, closes his eyes like the sight pains him. Billy stubs out his cigarette when he comes closer, the glare ever-present.

He passes Billy without care, heading for the driver's side.

"Harrington," he says and realizes pretty fucking fast he _can't hear him_.

He catches Harrington by the elbow before he can open the door. His eyes finally move to Billy's face and if Billy didn't know better, he would be a bit turned on at the heat with which Steve stares at his lips.

"Hold your horses, Harrington."

He yanks his arm out of Billy's hold.

"Listen, Hargrove," he spits out. His tone is slightly off but it may be out of anger. Or Billy might be imaging things now that he knows. "You get some giggle out of making my life harder, fine. I'll get by without these notes, just leave me the fuck alone. I can't hear your insults anyway."

He's fuming and Billy gets pissed again, Harrington just has a talent for setting him off. He's trying to help for once and still gets the backlash. Pinching the bridge of his nose, Billy tries to calm down.

"I'm going to give you your stupid notes whether you want them or not."

"Thanks for facing away, asshole, I didn't catch a thing," Harrington says, turning back to the car. "Great talk, let's not do it again."

Billy wants to slap himself in the face but really, he will be messing up for some time, he can't just go from _completely normal Harrington_ to _deaf Harrington_ in a matter of minutes.

He doesn't try to repeat himself, just grabs the binder with his notes from November and December from his book bag and shoves it at Steve. He takes it but doesn't stop with the icy look. Grateful much.

"Your homeroom teacher said we should schedule weekly meetings but I suppose it can wait until you untwist your panties."

Harrington takes a deep breath—it gives Billy some weird satisfaction, knowing how much he aggravates him—and opens the door, hitting Billy with it, forcing him to take a step back. He throws the binder at the passenger seat and closes the door, completely ignoring Billy. He starts the car, looking up again. Billy smirks, his most charming smile at work.

Harrington takes his hands off the steering wheel and signs something at Billy aggressively. He's pretty sure those are all insults, _fuck you_ is a rather universal gesture.

It's cute, really. He looks like an angry kitten.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for any kind of feedback - kudos, comments, bookmarks! They're all appreciated.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I kind of did a thing.
> 
> Basically, because this fic obviously uses ASL, there are descriptions of signs (may not be correct, mind you, my main SL is still Polish). At first I wanted to do a thing when the reader doesn't understand the signs just as much as Billy whose POV we're in (something like in Hawkeye comic books, with Hawkeye signing with no translation in text boxes, which shows how hard understanding ASL in reality is) but well-
> 
> So, there are two ways to read this:
> 
> \- with the meanings, so checking the circled numbers with your cursor or (if you're on mobile) checking footnotes at the bottom of the chapter
> 
> \- without, skipping the footnotes at the bottom

Harrington is stubborn. So fucking stubborn.

Billy's tried everything to get him alone, just the two of them, and every time it goes to shit. He would corner him next to their Lit classroom and ask him to meet for their study session like Steve's homeroom teacher suggested and then Steve, as soon as he notices Billy, closes his eyes. And Billy can talk all he wants and he won't take in even a word.

It makes Billy's blood boil.

He tries playing nice, once, twice but he is the opposite of a saint. When Harrington closes his eyes _again_ and pretends Billy is not there, he grabs his shoulder with a little bit more force than he needs. He stumbles under Billy's hand and his back hits the wall.

Some people turn around to watch for a fight—Billy is not going to hit him even though it probably would be easier—and some hippie girl steps between them.

"Do you have no remorse?" she asks, pointing accusingly. "Don't you know Steve is deaf? Leave him alone."

This makes no sense, of course, Harrington is deaf, not an invalid, he could punch back if he wanted. And really, Billy hasn't even tried anything.

He lets go, there's way too many people whispering, _you have to be a real asshole to bully someone disable—_ they don't say _disable_ but Billy doesn't want to ever hear the words they've used, especially not with Steve next to him. He understands a bit more why Steve kept this whole hearing impairment secret when he still could—Billy would hate people walking on eggshells around him or making _being deaf_ his one and only defining feature.

When Billy passes his desk after the bell, Steve smirks like he won an actual fight. So Billy does that one thing he hasn't done since elementary school.

He tells the teacher.

Steve's homeroom teacher—Billy still doesn't know her name—fusses over him and encourages him, "There's nothing to be ashamed of, Billy just wants to help you."

And Billy does want to help. He genuinely wants to help. Maybe not completely selflessly but he wants to help.

"You're not going to my house, I'm not letting your psycho ass in," Steve tells him as soon as his teacher is out of sight, his tone cracks a bit again.

They end up in the library and Billy realizes pretty fast Harrington has no idea what Mrs. Hartman has been talking about _Pride and Prejudice_ the whole week. To be fair, most of the class doesn't but Harrington's problem is different— _Pride and Prejudice_ is long words, weird names, old language and lots of class discussions that Steve doesn't catch. Mrs. Hartman doesn't write everything on the board.

"I have dyslexia," Steve adds and honestly, Billy wonders how he's made it this far without help when reading is torture and hearing is not an option.

Even when Billy talks to him, sitting on the other side of the table so he can lipread, he frequently asks Billy to repeat stuff or write it down and they spend over fifteen minutes with Billy saying the names of the characters so Steve has an idea of how they look when they come out of someone's mouth. Billy yawns at some point— _Pride and Prejudice_ is not his favorite and he's already read it back in California—and he yawns in the middle of a sentence.

Steve throws his copy of the book at him.

"I can't understand when you do that, asshole."

He doesn't yawn again.

Billy is patient like never before. Steve _needs_ someone to be patient with him because he isn't patient with himself at all—he refuses to show Billy his notes most of the time, groans whenever Billy says something he doesn't understand, and he looks so angry to even be in this situation.

He groans again, hiding his face in his notebook.

"I didn't understand a word you've just said."

"Steve," he says, soft. And _he can't hear him_ so Billy reaches across the table, touching his elbow. His eyes are on Billy when he says, "Want a break, pretty boy?"

The frustration sags out of his shoulders and he looks almost sad. Resigned.

"Sorry, I'm still getting used to... _everything_."

"But you've always been hearing-impaired, right? It shouldn't be so hard for you, you already can read lips."

He didn't want for it to sound demeaning, rather uplifting, with Steve already having some advantage in the unexpected situation he found himself in but it's like Steve's whole face frowns, he narrows his eyes and scrunches his nose—he looks adorable—and then he stares at Billy for a long moment.

"First of all, don't call anyone that. I don't mind but deaf people generally don't like that term," he says, biting his lip.

"Call anyone what? Hearing-impaired?"

"Yeah, that," he replies, fidgeting with his fingers. "And lipreading, you know, it's not as magical as the movies make it. I don't understand everything, I need context, that kind of stuff. It used to be easier."

His eyes are on Billy's face, never looking to the side, never avoiding. Billy gives him the same attention even if he doesn't have to.

"How so?" he tries to be casual but he really wants to know, really wants to make it as trouble-free for Steve as he can.

And it's like the switch is off and Steve, Steve gets shy—he's still observing Billy but his whole body shifts in the chair and his palms open and close a few times. Like he doesn't trust Billy wants to hear whatever he will say or like he doesn't believe Billy will listen to whatever he'll say.

"I could hear about every third word and most of the words I could hear to some extend, like—well, I can't describe that, I was born with hearing loss so I don't know how normal people hear," he explains, spouting the words fast, blurring them together. "Before that night, I heard something like— _like shapes_ of the words and I could fill in for the words I didn't catch lipreading. I can't do that anymore."

 _Before that night_. Billy's chest grows tight. _Before that night in November._

"Is that why you hate me so much?" he asks, throat clenching. "Did I—Was I _the accident_?"

Steve stares at him like he doesn't understand. He frowns again.

"No," he smooths Billy's nerves with one word. Then, he adds, "Maybe, I don't know. That night was hectic, you were just the beginning."

"But it could be because of me?"

"I don't think it was you, when I left Byers' house I could still hear," he explains. His gaze hardens and he looks Billy straight in the eyes with cold anger. "It really wasn't your fault, it was bound to happen, Hargrove, so if this whole tutoring thing is out of guilt, you can stop."

Billy shifts and clenches his jaw.

"Get back to the fucking book, Harrington."

Steve kicks him in the shin under the table. The weight on his shoulders eases up a bit.

Steve subsides within the week when he realizes Billy is really not trying to make his life harder, that he is not trying to make fun of him, that he's not messing with him.

He still refuses to allow Billy into his house.

To be honest, Harrington definitely doesn't have it easy. He should have it easier now, with his hearing problem being a public knowledge, but it actually gets worse. Billy understands what his homeroom teacher meant about teachers not accommodating Steve. Hell, he thinks it was a delicate way to put it—it's like every teacher suddenly wants to make Steve's life as difficult as it can be, like they want him to drop out and stop being a burden, stop making them put extra efforts into teaching.

Coach keeps on alluding that Steve should get benched before their next game. It's a bunch of shit.

Steve doesn't play worse in any way, he's always been weirdly aware of his surroundings on the court—well, not so weirdly considering everything—and had this way with teamwork—very unlike Billy—and it doesn't change. He misses a couple of passes because he doesn't hear guys calling out to him but he's still better than the whole team.

People keep talking behind his back and it spikes pure rage in Billy—there's nothing more cowardly than spitting out insults when the person you are insulting can't hear you.

Steve misses a pass again and Billy hears Hagan cackling next to him. "Specially abled freak is ruining our game."

Steve is being reprimanded by the coach and there's no way he can notice Tommy's bullshit with his eyes focused on the coach's mustache. Billy ignores them—Steve's shoulders fall and it's like his will to live leaves his body within a moment.

Steve gets off the court and takes his towel off the bleachers. He moves towards the doors without a word.

Billy catches up to him and doesn't even shout at him—he's slowly getting used to not being heard by Steve—and grabs his elbow.

"What's going on?" he asks when Steve's eyes land on his face. He doesn't let go of his arm.

"I got kicked out of the team."

Billy wants to be surprised but he can't. Steve doesn't seem surprised either.

"You can't be kicked out, you're taking gym this year," he reasons—he's thought about it since coach said Steve is useless when Steve couldn't hear his first whistle after Christmas break.

"I'm supposed to go back to the swim team, 've been in it sophomore year."

"So what, you're just going to give up?"

Steve stares at him with a grimace, like his thoughts pain him.

"Why do you think I never told anyone I'm deaf when it wasn't necessary for me to be able to graduate?" He grabs Billy's palm and guides it off his arm. "That's all they see now. Handicapped Steve. It's for the better, anyway, I know where I'm not wanted."

He leaves the gym.

Billy walks in the direction of the coach with the intention of getting Steve back when Hagan's voice reaches him. "Good, no one needs a dumb deaf on the team."

He punches Tommy's face in.

When they meet in the library later, Steve glances up at him with a smug grin. The fire is back in his eyes and Billy's heart beats faster because he has to look away before he does something stupid, like kissing that smile off his face.

"I heard you crushed Tommy's nose for me," he speaks up, amused.

Billy can't help himself. "You _heard_?"

He feels like a jerk the second it leaves his mouth. But Steve chuckles and it's magical—it's the first time Billy's made him laugh like that.

"I ' _heard_ ,' yes." He does the air quotes with both of his hands—he talks with them a lot, with his whole body, in general, but mostly with his hands. That's what makes him so interesting to watch.

 _Don't do anything stupid, Hargrove, just don't_. He looks to the side, still facing him.

"He was being annoying."

Steve humms, not believing him in the slightest.

"It was nice, in your own fucked-up way," he says, his eyes sparkling with energy. "But don't do it again, I've dealt with insults my whole life, one or two more..."

Billy knows how it feels to be insulted for something you didn't choose, something you were born with. He knows it never stops hurting, no matter how much you hear, no matter who is saying the words.

He wonders, though, who was saying the ableist bullshit to him if his whole life no one in Hawkins knew about his hearing loss.

"You sure? I could beat Hagan for you any day."

Steve smiles at him, rolling his pretty eyes. "I won't be able to save you from getting suspended again," he says, making Billy's chest flutter. He fucking knew he wouldn't normally end up just with a warning but Steve standing up for him—"I told Tommy I'm deaf freshman year and he didn't have a problem, it's more his problem with me as a person, he'll calm down eventually."

He bites his lip, thinking. Then, his hands move.

He touches his mouth with the tip of his fingers and lowers his palm. He shakes both of his hands making half-circle shapes with the motion, close to his chest, and taps his chin twice, again, with the tips of his fingers. 1

Billy watches him, entranced.

"What did it mean?"

Steve smirks.

"I'll keep it a secret, Hargrove, make you feel a bit like I do every day."

And he opens his Calc notes, his eyes concentrating on the last topic.

When Billy is sure he isn't watching, that he won't 'hear' the words in any of the ways he could, Billy says, "You're amazing, Stevie. So amazing."

Steve is better at Calc, so much better than at Lit or History. Sometimes numbers or letters move on his pages, all thanks to his dyslexia, but he grasps the topics the fastest, with little help from Billy. He doesn't even need to know what Miss Cole says to do the worksheets without a problem—which is good, Miss Cole speaks with her back to the class. If Miss Cole didn't mark their notes or assign homework while forgetting Steve has to see her, they could leave it altogether.

They are finishing up fast, it's quiet when Steve writes down new lines of math equations.

"Steve," Billy hears suddenly, losing his focus on Steve's hands. "Steve, I heard what happened—"

It's Wheeler because who else, it's always her. She is talking—whisper-shouting, they are still in the library—behind Steve's back, from a distance. Billy's irritation level raises with her every step. Hasn't Wheeler dated him for a year? Shouldn't she know he won't notice her if he can't see her?

"Steve," she says again.

Billy taps him on the back of his hand and when he glances up, points a finger behind him, at Wheeler. Steve turns around and his whole attention shifts to her. Billy hates it.

It's a bit selfish but Billy lives for having Steve's eyes just on him.

"She's helping me with Econ," he explains when Wheeler leaves—she says _see you tomorrow_ with her back to Steve—and his gaze is on Billy again.

"I could help you with Econ, too," he offers without hesitating. "Meeting up with your ex must be shitty."

Steve looks at him funny. "You don't even take Econ."

Billy doesn't. He's never in his life taken Econ but he could read a bunch of textbooks for Steve. He changes the topic,"What's your sixth subject?"

He scrunches his nose. "Home-Ec."

Billy blinks. He's waiting for him to say he's joking. He doesn't add anything.

"So what? You sew aprons and learn how to lay the table like a good housewife?"

Steve groans, "I was told to chose an easy subject, okay? And there are tones of girls and everyone should know how to cook." He points a finger at him, looking adorable with his big doe eyes. "And my brownies are delicious."

Billy licks his lips, chuckling. He swaps Billy's elbow, leaning across the table.

"I may even let you try some, if you behave," he adds.

"Can't wait, pretty boy."

"Maybe we could go to your house," Billy suggests next week, feeling lucky.

He wanted it to sound normal—two guys studying, eating snacks, _not_ listening to music but maybe watching TV, Billy doesn't know how that would work—but it came out so hopeful, like one of Billy's pick-up lines, only this time he means it.

Steve, thankfully, can't hear his tone, and answers without hesitation, "Nope, I don't think so."

And he keeps on walking in the library's direction. Billy has to catch up to him, hold him by his shoulders so he stops and looks at Billy's face.

"Come on, pretty boy, don't be so uptight."

"Tell you what, maybe I will let you change the scenery," Steve says, his eyes laughing at Billy. "If you treat me to dinner at Benny's."

Billy grins, licking his lips. _Don't say it_ , his brain supplies, _don't say it_.

"It's a date, princess."

He said it.

They separate on the parking lot, Billy watches him from the Camaro's hood, lighting up a cigarette. Steve smiles and lifts his hand—two fingers up to his cheek, one tap, and then he finger-guns. 2 It looks so _flirty_.

Of course, Max screws everything up.

She was supposed to catch a ride with her little boyfriend but she gets into Camaro's passenger seat before Billy even finishes his smoke.

"Get out, shitbird, I have plans."

"I broke up with Lucas," she says, like it explains everything.

"Don't care," he spits out. "Get out."

"Don't be an asshole, just take me home."

"I. Have. _Plans_ ," he repeats, clenching his jaw. "Fuck off for once."

"You're going to swap spit with some dumb chick, you do that every week." She's so wrong it hurts. "You can be late, she's gonna forgive you anyway."

"Knowing your babysitter, he'll leave if I'm five minutes late."

"You're meeting with Steve?" she perks up, doesn't even let Billy say a word before she demands, "I'm going with you."

"No."

Max goes with him. Steve brightens up when he sees her. Billy isn't jealous. He _isn't_.

Steve furrows his eyebrows and signs at Max—one hand open with a thumb out, another hand moving away, palm out, with a thumb curled inside, covered by three fingers. 3 Then, he briefly points at Billy.

"I'm making sure Billy apologizes," she says, looking clearly at Steve.

"I already apologized, shitbird."

Max elbows him, glaring. "You have to face him and make sure he's watching."

Steve looks between them, evidently confused. It makes Billy calm down a notch, even if he's still angry at Max for interrupting their time alone, he just wants Steve to be comfortable again.

"I already apologized," he repeats, when Steve's eyes are on him.

Steve frowns. "No, you didn't."

"I did." Max elbows him again, this time kicking his ankle too. "I fucking did, when I took Max to that shitty ball."

Steve stares at him, scrunching his nose.

"Fuck," he realizes. It's so stupid. He's so stupid. "You didn't hear a thing I said, did you?"

He blinks, his brown eyes huge, fluttering and then, bursts out laughing, so loud people glare at their table. It turns Billy's ears red but Steve's laugh is _so sweet_ he doesn't mind.

"You apologized?" he asks, still with a wide smile.

"But you didn't hear, it doesn't count," Max protests, waving with her hand so Steve looks at her. "He needs to do that again."

He answers her, signing the same thing—Billy thinks it's the same, at least—he signed when he noticed she came with Billy. He scowls at Max while doing it.

"What does that mean?"

"It's Max's sign, it's made up," he explains. "For her name."

Max beams. "Steve made signs for everyone's names." She says it like she's proud. Like Steve is her hero.

"Will I get one too, pretty boy?"

He wants one. He wants Steve to make a sign for him. He wants to be able to recognize it when Steve signs about him.

"Signs are for friends," Max spits out.

"I already have one for you," Steve says at once.

Steve smiles and that smile is too playful for Billy's liking. "You do?" they both ask at the same time.

He moves his hand up, palm open, with a thumb over its inside. Then, he moves it into a horizontal position and the tips of his thumb and index finger touch, making 'o' shape. 4

Max starts to giggle and doesn't stop even when Billy asks again, "What does that mean?"

"Don't worry, it describes you perfectly," Steve says, mock-serious.

They don't tell him what it means.

Apparently, Max knows some sign language—she signs to Steve from time to time, never anything long but always something very confusing.

It's mostly swearwords.

"Language, young lady," Steve tells her when she signs something after Steve said she should do her homework while they continue with _Pride and Prejudice_.

Max signs at him again, sticking her tongue out and Steve gasps over-dramatically—he's such a dork.

Billy wants to know what Steve is saying. He wants to know more than just swearwords.

1. _He touches his mouth with the tip of his fingers and lowers his palm. He shakes both of his hands making half-circle shapes with the motion, close to his chest, and taps his chin twice, again, with the tips of his fingers_ — Thank you, it was sweet. Signs: thank you; finish (past tense indicator); sweet.

2. _two fingers up to his cheek, one tap, and then he finger-guns_ — See you later.

3\. _one hand open with a thumb out, another hand moving away, palm out, with a thumb curled inside, covered by three fingers_ — Max's personalized name sign, combination of two signs: M; zoom out. Depends on expression, with a frown, it's more like _Max?_ , with a scowl it's more like _Max!_ etc.

4. _He moves his hand up, palm open, with a thumb over its inside. Then, he moves it into a horizontal position and the tips of his thumb and index finger touch, making 'o' shape —_ combination of two signs, one after another: B; asshole

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all your lovely feedback!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please stay safe everyone!
> 
>   
> Also, PSL is still my main sign so if someone knows ASL and sees mistakes, correct me, I'll be super grateful.

Steve does eventually allow Billy into his house. Eventually.

Billy is an angry asshole but well, Steve is an angry asshole too, maybe a softer version but an asshole nonetheless. He's not above admitting he's bitter, bitter that every part of his life is somehow connected to his deafness, bitter that it's him who is deaf, bitter that he can't hear anything anymore because of some inter-dimensional monsters and haunted tunnels and radioactive air and thirteen-year-olds driving cars. Bitter he wasn't careful. Bitter that he had to be careful in the first place.

It's just, Steve can see Billy's trying which is more than he could say about most of the people in his life, it's more than he has ever imagined Billy would be willing to give.

Maybe it's the apology. Steve is weak for apologies, mostly because he never gets them—not from his parents for the things they've called him, not from Nancy for cheating on him, not from all the teachers that tell him to just go to deaf school five towns over. No, he's always supposed to forgive and move on without that. And maybe he didn't hear it but Billy tried and that counts for more than something to Steve.

It kind of proves a point too, proves that Billy wants to help for real. He went from talking at Steve, literally behind his back, when Steve couldn't hear a thing, to tapping Steve's arm whenever he wanted to say something, anything, even just insults. So he invites Billy to his house with a light heart.

Billy lights up like a puppy who just got the bone. Not even a dog, _a_ _puppy_.

It's kind of sweet.

Because Billy is kind of sweet, Steve realizes. It's easier to notice now that he can't hear that ugly bark in the tone of his voice, he still frowns but his actions don't match.

He tells Steve he's stupid and then explains to him why dancing in _Pride and Prejudice_ is symbolistic for the third time. Whenever someone interrupts their study sessions, some girl or a guy who think they're a cooler company, and they ignore Steve completely saying _he can't hear us anyway_ —Steve knows because this is one of the most common sentences he's lipread when he was thirteen—he just points at Steve and tells whoever it was to screw themselves. And when Steve says he doesn't remember anything about World War I which is supposed to be on the test, Billy meets him in the library four days a week, even if it was supposed to be just one—he's scowling the whole time but he comes without Steve having to ask.

He carries a notepad for Steve so if Steve doesn't understand what he says, he can just slide it over the table—sometimes he throws it at Steve, every time with a frown but never annoyed. Which doesn't change that Billy's the first person to carry the notepad _for_ Steve. The second one is Dustin who does exactly the same when Steve tells him about Billy and then suddenly all of the kids, even Mike, have a notepad for Steve. Steve doesn't have the heart to tell them all he actually has his own notepad on himself.

Billy and the kids make the whole experience better, the whole transition period, as Steve's audiologist called it. The process of accepting he is deaf now, not hard of hearing, but _deaf_.

He hates it.

He can't listen to the radio. He can't hear the doorbell, the _school_ bell. He can't watch fucking TV because the caption decoder catches maybe eight episodes a week, all of them of the worst shows like _Love Boat_. He can only re-watch his slim collection of captioned VHS.

He doesn't remember voices anymore. He hasn't heard Dustin enough to remember in the first place, or any of the kids except for Mike. He doesn't remember his parents' voices. He doesn't want to forget.

Even going to the store is a problem now. Mrs. Kinley who adored him before now says he's a rude brat just because he doesn't answer to her when she talks at his back or says he doesn't understand what she is saying because she's having conversations out of context. He tries to sign to her, or give her his notepad, anything, but she calls him _deaf and dumb_ and Steve knows he's never going to be _polite, young man, Steven_ she adored again.

He tunes it out and looks at the receipt so he can pay the right amount.

There may be one positive thing about being deaf. If he doesn't want to listen to someone, he can just close his eyes and pretend everything is normal. That there isn't a person talking to him.

He uses it with Billy, sometimes, never to tune out _deaf and dumb—_ although there probably will be a day when he will have to, there always is—but mostly to push Billy's buttons a bit.

Sometimes it's just because he's too tired, or frustrated or doesn't understand. It doesn't help but he doubts there is something that will help him understand the brilliance of an "unequal" marriage as a plot point or whatever Billy is monologuing about.

At least Steve can just close his eyes and pretend Billy isn't spouting bullshit. Or he can deliberately not read his lips and just stare at how pink they are and nod when Billy expects him to.

This is becoming a problem.

Steve _does_ know Billy is attractive. Steve would never admit it to anyone, he barely admits it to himself, but he knows it not just from the girls from school—he knows because he likes guys to some extend, he knows because his first kiddy crush in the third grade was Fred Jacobs and because he buys sports magazines _not_ for the text inside. He knows because there's part of him that he's ignored to be—try to be—the perfect son his parents wanted. Now, though, there's nothing left to pretend for, he's not perfect, never will be, not without magically getting his hearing back. His parents didn't come back for Christmas and he understands what it means—it means that Steve has maximum a few years before he gets disowned after falling to go to college and take over his father's firm.

He may as well get disowned by something he enjoys. And he enjoys looking at Billy's lips.

"Are you even listening to me?" Billy asks him. He must have stopped talking at some point but Steve really isn't paying attention.

"I couldn't listen to you even if I wanted to."

He's pretty sure Billy snorts at him, he looks exasperated, like he can't believe that someone like Steve exists. He looks like that every time Steve jokes about being deaf, like he's somehow offended more than Steve—which, fair enough, deaf jokes stopped being offending and started being mildly annoying when he was around twelve. It's kind of sweet too.

Billy says something but it's really hard to concentrate with his pouty, pink lips and even prettier long lashes. He really wants to tell him to stop being so pretty. He would probably punch Steve's face in if he knew what Steve is thinking.

But he won't know if Steve signs it at him.

Every time it comes easier to him, for the first time in his life, he can actually use ASL. His grammar may be rusty but it's smoother than ever before, slipping into his language.

_PRETTY YOU STOP - STUPID PRETTY PINK LIPS_

Billy won't know. "Are you insulting me again?"

"Yeah."

Billy quickly finds out that Steve gets lots of headaches, he's just good at hiding it.

He has trouble sleeping, too, but Billy doesn't know where that came from. He does know the headaches are caused by a combination of things—long hours spent reading, his farsightedness—Steve doesn't wear glasses but he should, Billy's seen him squinting at diner menus and Billy's textbooks and at Max's art projects and newspapers—and mostly because he spends every second of his day hyper-aware, reading lips and translating words.

Not to mention Steve is stressed out. Most of the stress is Steve overreacting, honestly—he's so _emotional_ , so invested in people, he works himself up. Steve doesn't stress about school or about not understanding what teachers or strangers are saying. No, he stresses about such trivial things—about forgetting lunch, about not noticing Henderson talking to him— _if he doesn't make sure you're watching, he's speaking at you, Stevie, not your fault—_ about not having enough time to go to the arcade with Max, about Billy not eating enough—they eat lunches together now and Steve gives him granola bars and apples when he isn't satisfied with Billy's food—about Billy's swollen cheek. He pays attention to so many things Billy isn't surprised he gets overwhelmed.

He can't really help with the stress, the bad eyesight, or the hyper-awareness. He can't, as much as he wants to, he can't. Especially not now, not when Steve is still wary about him and doesn't let him take some of the stress, doesn't let him be Steve's ears even for a second of the day.

But he can help with the headaches and the general tiredness.

First, he starts carrying painkillers—paracetamol, ibuprofen, nothing too strong. Because Steve is so fucking stubborn and refuses to even acknowledge that his head is pounding but the minute Billy offers him some pills, he'll cave in.

"Come on, pretty boy, I repeated myself three times, take a chill pill and a nap and we'll continue later."

"I'm alright," Steve insists, always.

Billy just slides the paracetamol closer and goes for a glass of water.

When Steve finally takes the pill and gives up on pretending he's fine, Billy writes him a note with _NAP_ on it and sticks it to his forehead.

Billy sets the timer in the kitchen—Steve won't hear it anyway—for thirty minutes and does his Physics homework or catches some TV while Steve takes a power nap.

Sometimes Billy watches him like some fucking creep but really, at this point, he is past thinking it's weird.

When Max tags along—unfortunately, she does that more often than not and Steve always gets swapped by her puppy eyes—she naps with him, like it's kindergarten.

But it's not enough. He just wants Steve to stop getting the headaches altogether.

Lipreading is what makes it bad, Billy knows. Steve's tried to explain it to him—it's the whole constant concentration, exhausting him mentally. Billy can't understand how it feels like but he can respect what Steve is feeling without understanding.

With his dyslexia as a part of the equation, there's only one way to make it better. The sign language.

To be honest, Billy would want to learn it without knowing how much Steve needs it. He would have, a couple months later when Steve and he would be on at least the same level of relationship Steve has with his brats—that he could start learning with Steve showing him the first signs and guiding his hands when he makes mistakes, his fingers around Billy's, close on the couch—like in some chick flick.

He can't wait for that. He wants to learn as early as possible. Not to mention Steve already has enough on his plate, he shouldn't be Billy's personal teacher on top of that.

Hawkins is shitty as always and there is no helping hand anywhere.

The library has exactly three books about sign language and two on deaf children—Steve isn't a child but the book from Steve's homeroom teacher was about teaching deaf children and it still was helpful—but they are all gone. Gone, every single one of them.

It takes him a good fifteen minutes to charm Kathy into telling him who rented the books. It's one of Steve's brats, of course, the Henderson kid.

"When did he borrow them? He has two weeks to get them back, right?"

"I wouldn't count on that, that boy has never returned a book on time."

No bookstore in Hawkins has even a stupid magazine that would be helpful. When he asks if he can try to order some, they say they don't have any of that kind of books in the catalogs. So he goes back to the library and searches through the phone-book—the Indianapolis one—for Deaf Community Center, like the one he had seen in San Diego—most of the cities had at least one. There's a number to one, along with their address.

Usually, he would skip school the next day and drive there but he can't now—Steve wouldn't have his notes if he skipped.

He calls first. Woman on the phone makes the frustration of the day worth it—she's an assistant of some kind and explains to him how the community works, says he's welcome to come, and mentions a store they have within a building and ASL lessons they offer.

The next day, Billy goes to Indianapolis after school. It's a little bit sad, that he won't spend the day with Steve but he doesn't want him to know even a thing about it—he would probably question it and Billy can't think of a plausible excuse.

As soon as he enters the building, the woman from behind the counter starts to sign at him. she's smiling but Billy doesn't understand a thing. She signs again, this time slower, but it's not _the problem_.

"I don't know ASL," he explains.

The confusion on her face doesn't go away and Billy can practically hear Steve screaming at him _. Not everyone can read lips, I'm just that special._

So Billy takes the little notepad he carries around in his jeans back pocket for Steve—Steve is too forgetful to carry it but always covers it saying _maybe I just don't want to listen to you sometimes, Hargrove._

He writes on the notepad and shows it to the woman.

_I'm not deaf and I don't know sign language. Sorry._

The notepad is the right way to go because she takes it from him and writes, _No big deal. My name is Cindy, how can I help you?_

It takes Billy more time to actually write anything back but in his defense, writing always made him overthink things.

_My friend is deaf and I want to help him. Couldn't find how anywhere else._

That softens her completely, her face giving him a fond look.

There's an on-site store in the community building. Cindy explains that Mark, who works there, is also deaf but he used to wasn't, like Steve, and he probably will know more than her. She offers him to join the ASL newbie group that started in January—he would have taken it if he could afford to pay for the lessons and the drive to Indianapolis twice a week.

Mark talks and reads lips. His speech is worse than Steve's—Steve sometimes doesn't intone questions or slurs long words while Mark's every word is a bit deformed. He's the most helpful out of all the people Billy's talked to.

"I will show you the books my wife found helpful when I went deaf."

Billy apparently is the wife in this scenario.

Mark laughs at Billy when instead of choosing a few books out of the pile, he takes them all to the till. He shows Billy self-learning ASL VHS series and Billy grabs the first three tapes. There are a few books about sign language in general and a very expensive ASL dictionary with step-by-step pictures.

It costs more than he's comfortable with but—

But it's for Steve.

Sign language is more complicated than it looks.

The start is easy—the alphabet. It's not too hard, Billy confuses G and H and M and N, but for the most part, he learns it in a day, remembering it correctly within three days.

He does have a bit of a talent for languages, took to Spanish like a duck to the water, but sign language is _so different—_ it's more muscle memory than anything, Billy has to figure out the signs in front of a mirror and repeat them until it _sticks_.

He watches the first VHS when Neil and Susan are away for the weekend, Max spending the night with Chief's daughter. The whole secrecy makes it feel like Billy is watching some gay porn he could buy in a run-down store in the queer neighborhood of San Diego.

The next day, Max tags along to watch the tape with him so it doesn't feel like watching porn but it's still weird.

And the shitbird is better at signing than him, repeats most of the signs perfectly within the first try. It's fucking frustrating.

She goes through _hi, my name is, I'm deaf, hard of hearing, I know a little sign, nice to meet you, yes, no, you sign too fast, I understand, I don't understand, sorry, thank you, no problem_ like it's natural for her while Billy struggles to keep up with the person signing on the screen.

He rewinds the tape and starts again. Until it fucking sticks.

"You really care about this," Max says, watching him when he repeats the first ten signs again—the ten he has no problem with. "You really care about Steve."

"Yeah, no shit."

Max stares at his hands. He doesn't know how Steve doesn't get stressed out by people watching his hands like that—because they do watch, Billy does for sure. Billy's palms are sweating even when it's just Max. He messes the _not_ in _I don't understand_ again, pokes his chin with the A handshape before he moves it next to his cheek before flipping his index finger out for _understand._

Max stops the video and before Billy can even open his mouth, she tells him, "Steve says you can shake your head for negative."

"What?"

" _Not_. Shake your head while signing the verb," she explains and then does the whole sentence.

She points at herself, then moves her hand to her right cheek and points her index finger at the ceiling, the back of her hand to Billy, shaking her head.

"I don't understand," she says, doing it again.

He looks at her and she starts repeating it again. He repeats after her.

"You can't glare at me like that while signing, expressions speak too," she points out after Billy does that for the second time. "Steve says it's not about what you're signing but how you're signing it. Expressions and body language matter."

"Then what I'm supposed to do? Smile all the damn time?"

Max makes a face. "Raise your stupid eyebrows."

Billy throws the remote at her. She makes the same sign Steve uses for his name—Billy hasn't seen it slow enough for him to be able to repeat it but he can clearly the O shape her thumb and index finger create.

"Why are you signing my name, shithead?"

Max laughs at him for over five minutes.

She may have had a head start with learning ASL but Billy's not going to stay behind for long. Even without Steve's help.

He makes the first mistake trying to make actual sentences before he learns enough words and any basic grammar rules.

ASL is _not_ English. Half of the words are not even there or they are in weird places or mean something completely different. And there is no such thing as fucking conjugation.

He wanted for the first thing he signs to Steve to be a pick-up line, something really cheesy that would make Steve laugh. But they are too complicated and there isn't exactly a chapter titled _flirting_ in any of the books.

So no pick-up lines. He manages to find how to sign _pretty boy_ , though. The sign for _pretty_ is easy enough, a wide-open hand making a half circling motion, fingers tightening over the chest. _Boy_ is touching your fingers and your thumb together twice, close to the right side of your forehead.

He doesn't dare to sign to Steve. He's still so clumsy at it, nowhere near Steve's smooth motion or even Max's slow strokes. It will probably take him weeks if not months before he is on a level that is worth showing.

He recognizes some signs Steve does now.

For starters, not everything he signs at Billy is an insult. He doesn't know what he signs at Billy but he does catch _thank you_ a lot. He may still be signing something like _thank you, asshole_ but Billy will take what he can.

Most people heard about Steve being deaf—Hawkins is a shitty small town where everyone knows everyone—but sometimes there's a person who doesn't remember.

Steve will always say, "I'm deaf," and make the signs that would translate to that. _I. Deaf_. Points at his chest, moves his index finger from his cheek to tap his chin. It's like a reflex—when he says he's deaf, he always sign it too. Billy starts doing it too, whenever Steve is not there, or can't see.

"Steve is deaf," he tells some asshole who talks behind their back, and while he says that, he points at Steve and moves his index finger from his cheek to tap his chin. He taps Steve, who is hidden behind his locker door, on the shoulder so he's not surprised someone sneaked up on them.

The sign that looks so flirty, that gets Billy so flustered, it's a simple and very casual _see you later_. He can do it now too, two fingers up to his cheek, one tap, and then a finger gun. It seems so obvious now that he knows, Steve's always signed it at him when they parted ways.

He knows now but it still gets him flustered. It's really about _how_ Steve signs it—with a smirk on his lips, with a spark in his eyes, fluttering his eyelashes.

Steve's body really talks for him—when he is angry, his signs are fast, clumsy, and aggressive, with long strokes, when he is happy, his signs flutter like butterflies, when he is tired, his hands are a bit lower than usually, his elbows sagging.

He starts raising his eyebrows when he goes through the VHS—for confusion, for questions. It's what Steve does too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There aren't any signs that are not described here but if you're confused about something, please let me know.
> 
> Thanks for all your lovely feedback!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick note: while Steve signs with anyone who isn't fluent in ASL, he uses PSE, which is a mix of ASL and English, takes longer to sign things but is easier to learn since it doesn't use ASL grammar structure most of the time. I can't speak for ASL users but I know British and Polish SL have something similar to PSE and it's often used even further into learning sign, especially by people who grow up in hearing communities and for whom sign isn't their first language.
> 
> Also, if you know ASL, correct me, I'll be grateful.

Steve hasn't watched _Terminator_ and Billy makes fun of him for that.

Then, Steve says, "It's not like I could actually watch it anyways," and Billy feels like shit.

 _Terminator_ was released in the last week of October and Steve lost the rest of his hearing in his right ear at the beginning of November.

"Fuck, I—"

Steve reaches for his hand over the table, his Lit essay forgotten.

It's been a really calm day—the school was shit as always but then they decided to skip the library and go to Steve's house without arguing—which is unexpected, Steve usually play-fights about it—and before they started, Steve put a homemade— _homemade—_ zucchini lasagna in the oven. It smells delicious to the point that Billy cannot focus, which is why they stopped working on the Lit essay. Steve, Billy learned over the weeks, is great at cooking—he still makes fun of the whole Home-Ec class but he really wants to taste the famous brownies.

The radio is on, Steve doesn't care so Billy puts a rock station on a low volume. The timer in the kitchen is on, too.

"I'll tell you when it goes off, pretty boy, just set the time," Billy's told him, countless times.

It's the first time Steve agrees.

It keeps distracting them, the whole domesticity. So they talk and Billy talks about Halloween and makes fun of Steve because he had no idea what Billy's costume was.

And he feels like shit and Steve reaches for him over the table with this soft gaze, with big eyes and a tiny smile he usually directs at his brats. He's comforting Billy when it should be _Billy_ comforting _him_.

"It's not a big deal," he says. "I know you didn't mean it like that."

The progress was evidently made because when January started, Steve took Billy's whole existence as an offense. The progress doesn't stop him from feeling like shit.

Steve squeezes his hand, leaning even more over the table.

"Listen," he starts. He always chuckles when Billy uses that word, always makes a joke out of it—Billy doesn't know to what point it's a joke to him and to what point it's self-depreciation. "I'm deaf and film industry thinks I don't exist, yes, but neither me or you can do anything about either of those things. Let's just watch one of my captioned tapes today, forget about this conversation."

The timer in the kitchen goes off. Steve doesn't even twitch.

"The timer is—The timer is going off—"

Steve furrows his eyebrows at him and Billy immediately knows he hasn't understood a word.

"Don't mumble or I won't understand." The irritation is bold on his face. "Don't pity me."

With Steve's irritation, Billy's own irritation raises too. They had this conversation at least five times already and somehow Steve still doesn't get it.

"It's _not_ pity," he recoils. "It's not."

The timer is still going off but it seems louder. Billy has trouble hearing what Steve says next, his voice low and sharp.

"Isn't it?" he spits out, _isn't_ blurring into _innit_. "Because if it's pity, you can shove it up your ass, walk out the door and never fucking talk to me again. I'll even pack you a tupperware as a goodbye gift."

He points at the foyer, glaring. The worst thing is, despite all the anger, he still looks at Billy like he expects him to actually leave.

So Billy swallows his pride and backs down. "The timer is going off in the kitchen."

Steve huffs at him and still looks pissed off a bit but gets up anyway.

He signs something at Billy on the way to the kitchen and it's fast and obnoxious and probably insults Billy's intelligence.

It's not pity, at least not the kind Steve thinks about. There's one book Billy likes to re-read, one out of the stash he bought in Indianapolis— _Deaf for a Living,_ which is basically a guide for people who lost their hearing further in their life. Steve was born with hearing loss but he was too busy faking being a hearing person for it sink in—to allow himself to let it sink in.

It's not a mere part of his life now—it's his life.

Truth be told, it's probably not even being deaf per se, more likely what it entails—people's ignorance and discrimination, problems with communication, and being cast out by society.

Steve has every right to be angry.

"The fuck, Billy, how long has the timer been going off? The lasagna is burned!" He's screaming from the kitchen so he doesn't really expect an answer, just wants to bitch.

Steve has every right to be angry but he rarely is.

Billy clears the table, puts Steve's notebooks and textbooks to the side on a neat pile. They eat like the conversation hasn't happened, _You Really Got Me_ playing on the background, just for Billy's ears.

The lasagna is one of the best meals Billy's eaten, like almost everything Steve makes—it's a bit crispy because it sat in the oven for over five minutes longer. Still better than anything Susan makes—she does old-fashioned all-American dinners, has recipes from the fifties probably, while Steve makes lots of new stuff or Italian food—Billy is sure the lasagna is an Italian recipe too.

They don't go back to writing the essay. Mostly because Steve looks dead tired and, more likely than not, has a headache.

They put on a movie.

"You choose, man, I don't care," Steve tells him. "You can put some of those uncaptioned tapes in too, I'm gonna fall asleep in a minute."

Billy ignores him and chooses for him a captioned tape. There aren't many of them. Apparently, captioned tapes didn't exist before the seventies and even now, not every movie gets captioned—the most popular ones, ones with deaf characters, ones in a foreign language. They were a bit more expensive too, not that money is a problem for Steve, and hard to find.

People who are deaf don't really have many options when it comes to watching films—some theaters have one or two captioned screenings a week and apparently, some of the video rentals have captioned tapes but it's few in between.

Steve has a small collection of videotapes—his two favorites were _Risky Business_ and _Grease_. Well, he claimed his favorite was _Risky Business_ but Max's told Billy Steve watched _Grease_ with her and Jane—whoever she was—three times without complaining so it probably meant something.

So Billy chooses _Grease_ , as an _I'm sorry_ of sorts, hoping that Steve wouldn't notice.

He does, he always does.

Billy isn't paying attention—it's _Grease_ , he wouldn't pay attention even if Steve wasn't in the room—mostly because he sits down on the couch next to Steve and Steve is lying with his knees bend, the heels of his feet almost touching his ass and he's taking two-third of the sofa and he's still looking at Billy and his eyes are heavy-lidded with sleep and bump his legs into Billy's arm and he—

He is adorable.

Billy tries to watch. It's so weird—it's a fucking musical and Steve can't hear a thing but it's still his favorite movie, even if he has to read the captions without knowing the melody.

Steve's eyes close when Danny stops dancing with Sandy.

Billy watches him for a moment, not for the first time. He's wearing pastel blue sweater, loose and thin and his jeans are riding off his hips. Small shivers shake his body from time to time, his arms wrapped around his chest. The moles on his neck and collarbone are stark against his pale skin.

Billy's arm is wound around Steve's knees, close enough to glance at his body. He can stare all he wants.

"You're a walking marvel, Stevie," Billy directs the words at his sleeping face.

Steve just buries his face deeper into the cushion. He wouldn't wake up unless Billy started screaming into his ear.

Billy lets go of his knees and Steve moves his legs, following the warmth. He gets up and wraps Steve in the heavy blanket that is usually thrown over the armchair.

He wakes up, blinks lazily at Billy and his hand pokes out. There it is, his open palm, tips of his fingers touching his chin in a lazy movement, lowering it. It's a _thank you_ , or _good_ , Billy isn't sure—the signs look the same to him. He can't tell by the context either, the next sign is one he doesn't know, uses G handshape, moves his index finger away from his forehead twice. Then, Steve signs _you_ , simply pointing at Billy. 1

He's half-asleep and his signing still looks smoother than Billy's.

He leaves his hand over the blanket, turning his face into the pillow again.

He's a fucking marvel.

Family Video doesn't have any captioned tapes—it's way too small to have anything remotely suitable for Steve—none of the employees there even knew what he was asking about so he had to spend two hours going over the tapes, found two with captions, both some French movies whose covers screamed _soap opera_.

Steve has twenty tapes he can watch on repeat and Billy had the pleasure of watching shitty PBS reruns with him, the only thing the caption decoder could catch.

When Steve is bored, he mostly reads—usually magazines and teen books, sometimes even children's books, anything that doesn't have too complicated language. It gives him headaches, reading stuff that's too long or too hard but there's nothing else to do—every alternative for dyslexics concentrates around hearing resources.

Twenty tapes and fucking PBS. Billy hates it—it's just fucking captions, why can't they be on everything?

He calls the Deaf Community Center in Indianapolis again. He doesn't really know where to search for help.

"I need to find some video rentals that have captioned tapes."

It was the most awkward conversation in Billy's life.

"We have some in our building, yes," the woman on the phone answers, sounding tired.

"I mean, I know," he says because yes, he does know, he's seen it. "I mean something that's little closer to Bloomington or Louisville, or Evansville."

He can hear her sigh. "I'm sorry, we're not a helpline."

"Yeah, I know, it's just—" He feels like a complete idiot. "Listen, my—um, my girlfriend—"

And isn't it the biggest lie Billy's ever told? Steve is not a girl and definitely not Billy's _anything_. At this point, Billy's proud to say they are friends—and Steve would admit it too, on a good day—definitely nothing more, even though Steve replies to his flirting, always taking it in as teasing and playful banter.

"My girlfriend is deaf," he decides to say, in the end. "My girlfriend is deaf, we live in a shitty small town between Bloomington and Louisville and there are two tapes with subtitles in our shitty rental store. I can't drive three hours to Indianapolis every time I want to have a movie night together."

There is a minute of silence. Billy almost thinks she hung up on him.

"Can you call back in two days? We have some students from Bloomington and Louisville, they may know."

"Thanks," he sputters at once, relieved. "Thanks, I'll call back in two days, you're saving my life."

"Your love life, you mean." And then she hangs up.

So three days later Billy drives for over an hour to rent five captioned tapes.

He gets bruised ribs for being home so late. It's worth it.

When he parks in front of the school the next day, he tells Max, "You're not tagging along to Steve's today."

It's, of course, a mistake.

"Why not?"

"Just don't, shitbird, for once in your life, _don't_."

If Billy and Max share one trait, it's stubbornness.

"Does this have something to do with the tapes in the backseat?"

Whatever he replies, Max will know better anyway. So he doesn't say anything.

"Steve can't watch movies, you're just gonna make an even bigger ass out of yourself."

"They're captioned, _Maxine_ , I know what the fuck I'm doing."

Max raises an eyebrow at him—the kids do it all the time and he's pretty sure they learned it from Steve.

"I thought Family Video doesn't have captioned tapes."

Here is the thing—Steve's kids know all the stuff that makes Steve's life easier or harder, like Family Video not having captioned tapes. Billy has to go with the trial and error method while they can just ask Steve or Steve tells them on his own.

"Oh my god, you—" Max says. "Oh my god, you _like_ him."

There's a lot of unspoken things between him and Max. The fakeness of their parents' marriage. Billy's lack of anger management. Neil's abuse. Billy's interest in guys. He knows she knows—they have just never said anything about it. Up until now.

" _Oh my god_ ," she repeats, leaving the car.

They aren't even supposed to meet that day—Steve looks tired, will probably nap for a couple of hours before making dinner, Billy has basketball practice, Max has AV club—fucking nerdy AV club—and Billy needs to pick her up, get her home and then he will go to Steve's.

The plan is simple. The plan also goes to shit.

Max is not alone, the curly kid is there too—his name is Dustin, Billy remembers all the brats' names but that doesn't mean he will admit it.

"No fucking way," he tells Max when she opens the passenger door and moves the seat.

"Dustin was going to hang out with me anyway," she explains. "You can take the both of us."

The kid doesn't say anything, just stares between the two of them.

Billy repeats, "No."

The crossed arms don't look at all intimidating but again, stubbornness.

"Dustin is Steve's favorite," she adds.

He fucking knew it would happen—she's going to use Steve as an argument forever now, and Billy and his stupid soft heart will always give in.

"I thought he doesn't have a favorite kid."

Max rolls her eyes. "Everyone has their favorite kid, duh."

Kids tell him about the spare key under the pot— _Max_ does, Dustin just glares at him like he's questioning what Billy is doing here but is actually too scared of him to say anything—because Steve can't hear the doorbell.

The brats are trailing behind him, whispering to each other a few steps behind. As soon as he enters the kitchen and Steve looks up from a baking form, they both freeze.

He's wearing loose green cardigan and sweatpants and has his blue apron over it. He still looks tired, more than before, but when he sees Billy, he turns white as a sheet.

His hearing aids are clearly visible.

Billy didn't even think he has hearing aids. Which, stupid, yes, but honestly, he's never worn them before.

"Fuck," Steve sputters. It's panicky and scared.

And then he dives under the kitchen island, hiding away his face between his hands.

This is not what Billy expected.

"Max, can you both shitheads go for that thing I forgot in the car?" he yells over his shoulder.

Max doesn't catch what he really means the first time. "What? What thing?"

" _That_ thing," he repeats. "Back in the car."

"Oh," she says. "Yeah, that thing, back in the car."

Billy hears the _what_ that leaves Dustin's mouth and the front door closing.

Billy puts the bag with the tapes on the floor and crouches down, holding onto the countertop with one hand, reaching for Steve with the other. When Billy's fingers tap his shoulder, he springs from under the table, putting the kitchen island between them. He doesn't look at Billy.

"Can you just—Can you give me a minute?"

Steve's fingers twitch around the hearing aids—it's one of these times when you try to do something simple, something you've done countless times, with your eyes closed, but you're too nervous to do it right, you want to do it so fast it doesn't work. It breaks Billy's non-existing heart a little, seeing Steve so frantic, so desperate to hide away from Billy's eyes.

"Woah, you don't have to take them off, pretty boy," is the only thing Bill can say, can think of.

Steve isn't looking, not straight at Billy anyway, he doesn't know how much of that he caught. He steps around the island, gets the chair out of his way, and stops Steve's hands from fidgeting around his ear.

When Steve looks up and their gazes meet, his hands falter. His lips tremble, tears gather on the tips of his lashes, his beauty marks fade into the redness of his cheeks. Billy's never seen him like that, seen him so heartbroken, so ashamed.

He never wants to see him like that again.

Billy's eyes turn to the visible hearing aid on Steve's left ear. It's a big, dull grey color with nude parts that don't match Steve's pale skin.

Billy is still holding his hands.

He asks, turning his gaze to Steve's ears, "Can you hear me?"

And the tears in Steve's eyes break loose, streaming down his face—it's nothing bold, just silent couple of teardrops, making a path to his grimacing lips.

"Of course I fucking can't," Steve sputters out, his head turning away from Billy. His words are slurred, sound more like _o' colse I fuhing canff_.

If he could, he would have kissed the tears off his face. He doesn't really understand what's happening, what made Steve so upset. He doesn't.

He takes Steve's face into his hands, not being able to resist, guides him so he can see Billy's lips. "It's okay, it's okay, it's okay," he repeats and repeats until Steve's shoulders sag.

He doesn't understand what's happening and he isn't the best at comforting—he wants to smother him in a hug and let him cry it out, wants him to stop bottling everything up, wants to take him away from the big bad world. It's not an option, none of Billy's wants is.

So he dries the tears off his cheeks with the sleeve of his shirt and repeats, "It's okay," until Steve's breathing gets normal again.

He takes a couple of deep breathes and Billy asks him, "Okay?" because that's apparently the only word he can use when Steve is distressed.

He nods, quiet, the silence ringing in Billy's ears.

Steve's hands reach for the hearing aids again, and Billy taps his cheek with a finger, adding, "Keep them on." It's an encouragement but it sounds weak. Fragile.

"I don't want anyone to see me in them," Steve explains, his gaze straining from Billy again.

He still doesn't understand but won't argue. If he doesn't want to, Billy won't force him. He would like an explanation, even just to avoid whatever happened in the future, but it can wait.

Steve's hands are shaking when he tries to tug on the left hearing aid. Billy just smacks his palm away and hovers closer. There's a clip that holds the aid in place, it sits almost at the top, under the rubber overlay covering Steve's earlobe—it's what he was struggling with. Billy takes the left aid off and there's a red mark when the clip was, the thing was pretty heavy.

He does the same with the right one while Steve stares at his feet. It feels weirdly intimate.

Billy wants to hover a bit more but opts out for rubbing Steve's shoulder and giving him space. Steve puts the hearing aids in the drawer under the TV, not saying anything about it.

"You want some tart? I was going to put it in the oven..." he says instead.

So Billy goes outside, gathers the kids back into the house—they are shaking from the cold, having left their jackets in the Camaro and not having the keys, just standing there and waiting.

Steve lightens up a bit when he sees them, goes to give them both a hug—it's so easy for them to hug him back that Billy has to glance away. They both frown when they see Steve's red-rimmed, puffy eyes. Max sends him a questioning look and Henderson tenses, his gaze flickering from him to Steve.

He opens his mouth but doesn't say anything to Steve. He signs.

It's simple enough that Billy understands. Or maybe he's just getting better.

Dustin points at Billy, puts his both hands into G handshape, and twists them in opposite directions, meaning _hurt_ , and then he points at Steve, raising his eyebrows. He's asking if Billy hurt him.

Steve just smiles at him fondly and glances at Billy with keen eyes that suddenly have a bit more energy in them.

He touches his thumb with two fingers and pauses, observing Dustin and deciding if he wants to add more than the simple _no_ he signed. Finally, he points vaguely in Billy's direction and pats his left palm with a fist that has a thumb out. _Help_. He is saying Billy helped.

Max sends him a meaningful glance, like he's supposed to have a say in the conversation, even if she knows Billy doesn't sign to Steve. Henderson still looks skeptical.

In the end, he doesn't dwell on it—maybe because he doesn't know enough ASL yet, not enough to have this conversation with Steve. He makes a sign at Steve, taps his chest twice with an open hand, fingers wide, thumb a bit tucked in, raises his eyebrows again. _Fine_ , because he's asking if Steve is fine.

Suddenly, Billy is grateful Steve has the kids. Even if they never leave them alone.

Steve nods at him, fondly, and signs it back, doing the sign for _fine_ twice, saying he's very fine indeed. Then, he does the sign for _thank you_ , and then the same one he did a few days before, when he was falling asleep—moves his index finger from his forehead twice—and then he does another sign Billy doesn't understand, his index finger makes a crocking motion in his own direction. 2

They eat Steve's dinner—well, Steve's _dinners_ , it was supposed to last him for the whole weekend—a spiral vegetable tart that looks like one of those things Billy've seen on cooking shows. It's creamy, and delicious, and makes Billy thinks about a stupid, none-existing future where he would get back from work to something as tasty waiting for him on the dinner table.

Henderson pretends Billy isn't in the room, which is fine with Billy, he would like to pretend the kids aren't in the room either.

Steve looks sad when he shows him the tapes.

"I can't watch that," he says, resigned.

So Billy turns the cassettes sideways and taps the CC on the spine, watching how Steve's big doe eyes widen, how his smile brightens up, how he leans into Billy's space like he wants to hug him.

Billy rented five tapes, all with captions. Three of them are horrors.

The plan was, Billy would tease him into watching a horror, they would sit together on the couch, very close, and Billy would put an arm around Steve, and then when Steve would get scared, he would hide his face in Billy's shoulder—or Billy's chest, if he was lucky—and Billy would tease him some more, simultaneously enjoying every minute, maybe even hug him a bit. The plan is not possible now, not with the brats here.

The other two tapes Billy rented only if Steve insisted on watching something that wasn't horror or if he got super scared after the first movie—the first _Indiana Jones_ movie and _Taxi Driver_.

Steve insists that kids should not watch _Alien_ , which was their first choice. They try to go with _Indiana Jones_.

The movie is not captioned. Billy panics and looks at the tape's sleeve and the CC symbol is on the spine and on the back, clear white letters _Closed Captions_. Steve just sighs.

"Happens all the time," he says. "They put _closed captions_ on lots of tapes that aren't. I usually ask to play the tape in the store."

Billy nods, feeling stupid. "Noted, pretty boy, will ask next time."

Steve stares at him, like he can't believe there will be next time when Billy just spent three dollars on a movie they can't watch.

 _Alien_ wins. Henderson calls his mom and says he is staying with Steve. Max calls their house, says she's staying with Jane, and Billy is staying because her dad has a night shift and Billy will watch them.

Billy's plan could still work, a bit at least, so he sits next to Steve. Dustin glares at him and takes Steve's other side while Max gives him a grin that says Billy won't stop hearing about this night for years.

Henderson takes a baseball ball from under the coffee table.

"Now, listen," he says, and apparently he is talking to Billy. "This is The Speaking Ball. I don't like you here but Steve does which doesn't mean you can ignore the rules. And the rules are, you are speaking, you're holding The Speaking Ball."

Billy's pretty sure Steve hasn't understood a thing because Henderson has a tendency to speak super fast whenever he speaks to anyone but Steve and his whole not-having-teeth thing makes it even harder at times.

But still, Steve says, "I made one baseball reference—"

Henderson shoves The Speaking Ball at Steve's face. "One a day, more like."

"Steve says he's going to teach us to play baseball in the spring," Max adds helpfully from around Dustin.

The memories of his own baseball lessons flicker through his mind but he doubts Steve would ever traumatize baseball for the kids the same way Billy's been traumatized by his dad.

The Speaking Ball lies on the table when the movie begins.

The plan does not work.

No one is afraid of the movie, in general, the most horrifying parts are the jumpscares. As the name says, they jump whenever they happen, all except for Steve, who can't hear the music pausing. He laughs his ass off at them, stuffing his face with popcorn.

Billy takes The Speaking Ball and asks Steve, "You're not scared? Like at all?"

He asks mostly because he knows how easily scared and shaken off Steve gets—he's pretty much afraid of the dark, from what Billy understood, what with the lights on everywhere in the house, always, and how spooked he looks on the parking lot whenever they finish in the library especially late.

He really thought the plan was fool-proof.

But Steve doesn't look afraid, if anything, he looks bored. Like he's seen the movie thousands of times and found the awful looking aliens dull. The kids aren't that far behind in being disinterested and although Max is not the type to be afraid of horror movies, Henderson looked like the type that would say he's not and then proceeded to hide behind his hands throughout the worst scenes.

Billy is kind of disappointed. If he knew, he would have rented some touching, tearful drama movies and hope that Steve would cry into his shoulder or blush, embarrassed at how easily he gets emotional. At least this Billy is sure of—they talked about _Outsiders_ once and he swears Steve was about to burst into tears.

"I didn't understand, Billy," Steve says softly, all his focus on Billy's face.

It's quite dark in the room, only one lamp in the corner is on, it's probably hard to see anything clearly.

Henderson looks up at him, suspiciously focused, like he expects Billy to erupt at Steve for something he can't control. He doesn't say anything though, just buries his cheek in Steve's arm.

Billy wiggles around, taking the notepad from his back pocket—it's wrinkled and torn at the edge from the use, and it's his second one, almost full. Billy takes the little pen that's in the loop on the top of it and writes his exact words.

Steve scrunches his face at it, like he's uncomfortable with the question. He pushes the notepad back in Billy's hands, but it's a cautious gesture, delicate, like all of Steve's movements, soft finger pads brushing Billy's skin. His hands feel cold, so much colder than Billy's.

His gaze flinches to the screen where the alien's mouth open, covered in drool.

"They're not real," he finally tells Billy, sounding like they _could_ be real. Like the aliens could walk out of the TV screen.

His voice seems hollow.

The kids look at Steve without subtlety, the same hollowness in their eyes.

Billy wants to ask if this is some kind of a joke he isn't on. Instead, he gets distracted when Steve sinks deeper into the couch, puts Billy's arm, which is already hovering over the backrest, around himself, and tucks his cheek under Billy's shoulder like it's completely normal.

"Steve..." he begins and shuts his mouth. It's not like Steve is going to hear anything he says while lying, _cuddling up_ , this way.

He doesn't know what to do, just sits stiffly.

"Shut up," Steve mumbles out. He doesn't really sound sleepy. "Don't talk, your chest moves when you talk and pillows don't move."

Max smirks over Dustin's weirded out face, and Billy's grateful it's so fucking dark in there and none of them can see how red his face is.

All three of them fall asleep before the end of _Alien_ , Steve tucked into Billy's chest, Dustin on Steve's arm and Max on Dustin's shoulder. Billy's smothered by their collective weight when the end credits roll and he can't feel his elbow.

It's still quite early and he's hella uncomfortable but he won't wake up any of them. Steve has been tired before, looked tired when Billy came and the crying probably didn't help. He doesn't sleep enough.

The kids wake up from a nap, loud enough that they shake Billy up from nodding off. He is about to whisper-shout at them until he realizes Steve can't hear them and won't wake up just from the voices.

Henderson goes to the guest room upstairs after Billy tells Max there's no way they're going to sleep in the same room, even if Dustin sleeps in a sleeping bag on the floor.

"How come you and Steve can sleep together on the couch then? It's unfair," Max grumbles when she helps Billy put Steve's feet on the couch so Billy can lie down a bit more on the cushions. This is going to give him the worst back pain ever.

By some luck, Steve doesn't wake up when she put a heavy blanket around them and Billy says, "I thought Sinclair was your little boyfriend, not the curly kid."

"Well, I thought Steve wasn't _your_ boyfriend," she counters.

They glare at each other for a moment.

Billy gives in first—he just wants to cuddle up with Steve for a bit, as long as he can. Preferably alone.

"Go to the guest room," he tells her and then adds, " _Downstairs_."

Because Harrington's house is a freaking mansion and there are _three_ guest bedrooms, two upstairs and one downstairs. If he wanted to, he could take one for himself.

He doesn't want to.

He wonders sometimes, especially on days like this one, when he spends the whole day with Steve and doesn't leave Steve's house until it's been dark outside for a couple of hours, where Harrington's parents are. He's at Steve's at least twice a week, usually three or four times a week, and he's yet to see them.

The house is huge and it looks like a photography, clean and all for show, except for the places Steve uses—the TV area, the kitchen, the foyer.

Steve rubs his face into Billy's chest. His arms are wrapped around Billy like an octopus, squeezing Billy's waist from time to time. Billy brushes his hair back, his fingers caressing the beauty mark on Steve's cheek.

If the house is a photography, then Steve is a film, always moving, never still.

The first thing Billy notices when he wakes up is the godawful back pain.

It's a lie. The first thing he notices is the lack of Steve wrapped around his chest. The back pain is a close second, though.

Steve is in the kitchen, Billy hears it more than he knows. There's probably a fresh pot of coffee too, at least it smells like it.

Billy stands in the kitchen doorframe for a minute, letting himself imagine it's that impossible future and Steve's preparing something as cheesy as _breakfast in bed_ , just for Billy, in their own kitchen. He watches, feeling undeniably fond, how Steve scrunches his nose at the text in the recipe book, holds it away from his face so he can see the letters.

The fantasy cuts abruptly when Steve turns around with a bowl in hand and startles, seeing Billy. Something that looks like choco-chip pancake batter spills all over Steve's sweater and the floor when he jumps.

" _Jesus Christ_ ," he spits out.

Billy laughs instead of helping him.

Steve glares when he tiptoes around the mess on the floor, takes his sweater off—thank god he has a tee on underneath, Billy wouldn't be able to concentrate—and moves for a roll of kitchen towels.

"Well, we're not eating pancakes then," Steve says, sighing. "It's good I wanted to make frittata stack too."

Billy doesn't know what fucking _frittata_ is or if this was Steve mispronouncing words but he's sure it's gonna be tasty.

He sits up on the counter, next to the cookbook, watching Steve put onions and mushrooms in a skillet, crush the garlic over it and add a bunch of spices, stirring every other minute.

It takes some time, whatever he is doing with the mushrooms, because Steve turns around and looks at Billy with wide eyes, like he's only now noticing he's sitting there.

"Did I wake you up? Dustin says I'm loud in the kitchen but..."

He _is_ loud in the kitchen. Billy doesn't mind.

"No," he lies smoothly. He's not sure if Steve could even change how loud he is, not that he wants him to.

Steve stirs the mushrooms again and moves to the recipe book, hunching over the text again. Billy leans in, just a bit, hoping he would be able to read it for Steve.

It's not in English. It's definitely a _frittata_. Some words are similar to Spanish but it's not Spanish either. He taps Steve forearm twice and he looks up, big doe eyes curious.

"It's not in English," he states, eloquently, pointing at the recipe.

"It's my grandma's," he explains, furrowing his eyebrows. "It's in Italian."

Billy just stares for a moment. "You know Italian?"

See, Steve calls himself stupid a lot—never dumb, deaf and dumb doesn't mix, _stupid—_ and yes, Billy admits his understanding of metaphors or knowledge of basic US history timeline is shitty, because it is. Steve's good at math and even a bit in physics but that's about it from his school-acquired education. He calls himself stupid often enough to the point where Billy stopped calling him _stupid_ even just for teasing because it doesn't feel like simple teasing anymore.

Knowing three languages is not something stupid people do.

Steve doesn't answer at once, turns around, and stirs the mushrooms again.

"I don't really speak it very well, even before my hearing wasn't good enough to—" he cuts himself off, looking at Billy like he regrets saying anything. "My speech therapy concentrated around English and I can't lipread Italian anymore, not since grandma moved back to Florence."

"As in, Florence, in Italy?"

Steve softens, nodding.

"She was the only person around whom I could wear my hearing aids."

He's heard enough to realizes what Steve is talking about—it's not _could_ , it's _was allowed to_. It wasn't Billy making him cry yesterday, it was years of _not being allowed_ from his parents.

It makes Billy _sick_.

"You can wear them, around me and the brats," he says, firm. Tries to joke, "Promise I won't make fun of your huge ears."

Steve gives him a half-smile for trying but shakes his head. "I don't like wearing them anyway."

Thing is, in all the books about being deaf Billy's read, hearing aids aren't that common topic. Most of them mention hearing aids while talking about hard of hearing people, not deaf—Steve always called himself deaf and there's a difference. While mentioning hearing aids in terms of deaf people, it usually says most don't wear them and that it's a choice. Never why, exactly.

"Then why did you wear them yesterday?" Billy asks, a little too fast.

Steve furrows his eyebrows and he knows he didn't understand, just because of the speed.

So Billy rephrases, gesturing at his own ears while saying, "Yesterday, why?" Sometimes context clues are better than repeating himself.

He realizes he could actually sign it to Steve—he knows the signs for _why_ and _yesterday_.

He hesitates, staring at Billy for a prolonged moment. "I couldn't fall asleep, I just kept hearing stuff—"

"Hearing?"

Steve shrugs, his hands fiddling with the spatula. He probably wouldn't look Billy in the eyes, if he could afford it.

"It's not _hearing_ -hearing. I don't know, it's like phantom hearing, I think. Like with amputees," he explains. He turns around and takes the skillet off the burner before his gaze is back on Billy, still sitting on the counter. "I was sleepy and kept hearing _something_ in my house and I knew it wasn't real but it felt real."

"So you put hearing aids to hear better? I don't understand," Billy says, earnestly. Steve told him he couldn't hear him yesterday—it didn't make sense.

"I can still hear, in my nightmares, you know," he confesses.

 _Nightmares_. Not even dreams, nightmares _._

"Not like you can hear, just like how I could hear back in October," Steve continues. "I had mild-moderate hearing loss in my right ear, now it's profound in my right ear, still severe-profound in my left, at least that's how my audiologist classifies it."

"And hearing aids? They help with that?"

He already knows the answer to that.

"Not really. Hearing aids are just, you know, _aids_ ," he says, sadly. Quietly. "They aid the hearing you have left but if there's nothing left—"

"They can't help," Billy finishes for him.

"I got my new aids prescribed in November but they don't do much," Steve admits. "They amplify the sounds but also diso— _distort_ it. I can hear only something like buzzing, or, I don't know, static noise. It gives me headaches but it's loud enough to stop me from hearing stuff I _imagine_ hearing."

They stare at each other for a moment. Billy doesn't know what to say. What he should say.

"It is what it is," Steve tells him softly.

Billy sometimes thinks Steve is a contained mess. Sometimes, especially when he gets emotional easily, especially when he can't understand what's in Steve's head.

But Steve is not contained or a mess.

1. _There it is, his open palm, tips of his fingers touching his chin in a lazy movement, lowering it. It's a thank you, or good, Billy isn't sure—the signs look the same to him. He can't tell by the context either, the next sign is one he doesn't know, uses_ _G handshape, moves his index finger away from his forehead twice. Then, Steve signs you, simply pointing at Billy_ — For. It's not commonly used in ASL, I think, rather used for PSE. Translation: thank you for being you.

2. _Then, he does the sign for thank you, and then the same one he did a few days before, when he was falling asleep—moves his index finger from his forehead twice—and then he does another sign Billy doesn't understand, his index finger makes a cro_ _cking mo_ _tion in his own direction_ — Ask (me). It's a directional sign, so the direction shows who the subject is asking. Translation: Thank you for asking (me).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love all of the comments and feedbacks but my anxiety sometimes prevents me from talking even on the internet...  
> Anyway, thanks for everyone's feedback!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for a very obvious mention of abuse!
> 
> I haven't proof-read it yet so sorry for potential mistakes!

Billy rides in Steve’s car for the first time when Steve sees his face and refuses to let it go. Well, to be honest, it looks pretty bad, his nose looks like it’s broken, with cracked, bloody skin on the bridge and the bruising around it—it’s not broken, Billy knows how broken nose feels.

He has a black eye too, it’s not swollen so it’s good but admittedly he is the picture of a guy who got into a fight. Neil rarely actually goes this far, mostly because Hawkins is a shitty small town and at some point, people would hear if Billy was getting into a fight once a week. Most stuff is under his shirt or on his back, not on his face.

Steve seems personally attacked by Billy’s face and declares Billy is going either to the school nurse, hospital, or Steve’s home.

Billy didn’t really feel like going to school and getting all the stares and listening to made-up stories about who he fought with. He didn’t protest.

The Beamer is not the worst car—it’s too expensive to be a bad car, it’s just such a dad car—but Billy would still prefer to take the Camaro. Neil doesn’t know the Beamer, so if he by any chance sees the car, he won’t know Billy skipped school.

He sits in the passenger seat and the first thing that catches his eyes is how big the backseat is, in comparison to his Camaro.

Billy tries not to think about it. Instead, he stares at the front window and the dashboard.

“It’s a lipreading mirror,” Steve speaks up.

Billy may have been staring but it was more of staring into space without actually seeing anything. There _is_ a mini mirror glued to the dashboard, angled slightly.

“It’s, you know, for lipreading,” Steve continues awkwardly when he doesn’t say anything. “While I’m driving.”

Billy, ironically, asks, “Is this safe?” Like he isn’t closer to death every time he drives on his own. Billy will admit he’s a speed demon while Steve drives like an old lady.

He just shrugs, which is not reassuring. “I talk with Dustin while driving all the time.”

He puts the keys in the ignition and _Under Pressure_ bursts through the speaker. Literally.

Steve laughs at him when he jumps in his seat. It’s ear-splitting, probably to the point Steve could hear it.

He reaches to turn down the volume before he goes deaf too, spitting out “What the hell, _Steve_.”

“It’s _Queen_ ,” he says. “Everyone loves Queen. I love Queen, Dustin loves Queen, Max loves Queen, El loves Queen.”

“You love Queen?” Billy asks dumbly.

Steve looks at him, raising an eyebrow and Billy can almost hear Max saying _duh_.

“You _still_ love Queen?” he corrects. “Even if you can’t really hear it?”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I can still hear the bass. Well, mostly feel it now, but I don’t think I could ever forget Freddy Mercury’s voice.”

Steve starts the car and pulls out from the parking lot.

“Do you remember mine?”

He doesn’t say anything, concentrating on the road ahead—he probably didn’t catch that. Which is good. He can’t find an excuse for why he asked, it’s not like he expects Steve to, not like he _wants_ Steve to remember it. He talks to Steve differently now, mostly accenting everything as properly as a white trash from the poorest part of California can, but also just— _softer._ It’s not a word Billy would have used to describe himself but there is something in Steve that makes him want to be soft.

“Not really,” Steve admits finally. “I don’t remember many voices. My grandma’s. Nancy’s. My speech therapist’s. Freddy’s. Elton John’s.”

He doesn’t mention his parents and Billy tries to keep his anger down his throat. Tries to think of bass-heavy tapes that he can show to Steve instead.

Billy sits on the counter in the kitchen with a bag of ice on his face while Steve tries to find the first aid kit.

He feels dizzy whenever he moves around too much. When he got out of the car, he had to give himself a second to catch up with the world spinning around him. Steve was close to packing him back in the car and taking him to the hospital at that moment, said he isn’t a nurse, and won’t be responsible if Billy slips into a coma and dies on his sofa. Billy called him a mother hen.

So, the kitchen counter.

It still hasn’t stopped taking him aback, just how caring and gentle Steve can be. He knows, logically, that Steve was such a soft, lovestruck, boyfriend that people at school started calling him a pussy when he dated Wheeler—it’s basically teenage boy speech for a softie. He knows from Max how he is with her and the rest of the kids, hell, if he didn’t know better, he would say Max has a bit of a crush on Steve too, with how much she gushes about him. He knows Steve helps out Joyce Byers and Henderson’s mom. He knows Steve’s picture would be under the definition of a nice guy, even if Steve himself always says he’s an asshole—he _is_ partially made of sass and angst but that doesn’t make him not nice—but it still strikes him sometimes, when Steve is so kind to Billy specifically.

Billy hasn’t experienced much kindness. It feels like he doesn’t deserve it.

Steve gets back to the kitchen, puts a shoebox full of bandages and meds on the counter, has a huge bottle of antiseptic under his arm.

He places a cotton pad covered in hydrogen peroxide on Billy’s nose without a warning.

Billy hisses. “What the fuck, Steve.”

Steve just smirks, smug, and shrugs. Billy takes back all he said about him being gentle—he’s a menace. A true asshole.

It is still nice though, having someone do that for him. Max used to help but it would get her in trouble if Neil noticed so Billy preferred she didn’t—he didn’t want her to get involved, Neil’s patience was already running thin and Billy wasn’t sure whether Susan was or wasn’t above sacrificing her own kid’s safety for a man she supposedly loves.

Maybe Steve could be his safe place. Even if he didn’t feel the way Billy feels about him.

He takes the cotton pad off Billy’s nose with all its bloody glory and taps Billy’s nose, this time delicately, with a fresh one.

Steve’s frown doesn’t disappear. “It looks broken.”

“It’s not.” Billy’s told him that three times already. “I promise.”

He still isn’t satisfied with this, staring at Billy’s face like he’s personally offended by it. “Dustin’s mom is a nurse, maybe she could take a look.”

Billy rolls his eyes, smiling softly. “It’s not broken,” he repeats, resisting the sudden and deep need to take Steve’s hands into his own, stop them from fidgeting with the tube of bruise cream. “Fucking mother hen.”

Steve furrows his eyebrows. “I didn’t understand that last thing but I’m sure you’re bad-mouthing me,” he says, finally unscrewing the tube. “So zip it, or I’ll stop listening and you don’t want me to put this cream on you with my eyes closed.”

Billy’s smile widens on its own. It feels like freedom, with how easily Steve cares. With how easily Steve makes him care. He hasn’t felt like that in years.

He’s gentle with the cream, applies it slowly, hovering closely over Billy’s face—he can see the flecks of gold in his eyes and that little beauty mark under his lower lip. His mouth is a little open, he’s focusing on Billy’s bruising, and his long eyelashes flutter.

“It would be so easy to kiss you, pretty boy.”

It really would. He’d just have to lean in, grab his hip, and hold him.

But Steve is too close to read his lips and will never know.

He takes a step back, placing a hand on his hip. “What did you say?”

He wants to laugh. Or cry. Probably both. “Maybe I should go to you after all my fights.”

Steve stares at him for a prolonged moment, worrying at his lip and frowning like he wants to say something.

“Fights, huh?”

Billy tenses, waiting for him to continue but he doesn’t. He closes the gap between them again, can’t lipread again when he says, “You can come to me after any of your _fights._ ”

Steve does not believe in Billy’s _fights_. This doesn’t mean he’s going to call him out on it.

He knows how it works, Hawkins is a small town in Indiana, half the people around him think punching your own kid is the right punishment, Steve got hit once or twice when he was younger, not a lot because his parents were too upper-crust, thought it was an ugly thing, below someone like them.

Up until junior year, Tommy had been the same. Most of the time he had a bruise somewhere Steve could see on him only in the showers after practice, or a red mark on his face or his wrist. But sometimes Tommy would come to school with a split lip or a black eye or sprained wrist, saying he got into a fight over Carol or some guy looked at him the wrong way or someone called Steve stupid—excuses were endless. They would spend a free period buying ice in the shop next to the school and hiding behind the bleachers.

And then after the end of the junior year, Tommy’s mom showed up with a black eye at church, Tommy’s father was never seen again, and Tommy stopped showing up with bruises. The anger stayed in the Hagan family, this time in Tommy. Carol, as much as Steve didn’t want to admit it, only amplified it, with her own behaviors and assurance - it’s why Tommy doesn’t see anything wrong with how he behaves and why Steve sometimes wants to give him another chance.

So Steve knows a thing or two about _fights_. So he knows there’s nothing he can do as—admittedly—a teen. He knows Tommy felt shame more often than not when he asked—he knew he would avoid Steve whenever he was blatant about it. He knows Billy’s situation is even more complicated—he has a younger sister and kids always complicate things—and it’s not as simple as _telling an adult_. If he tells someone and they investigate and come with nothing or, which is worse, agree with Billy’s dad and clap him on the shoulder for teaching his son how to _be a real man_ , or Max’s mom denies everything, it’s going to end with even more violence and more harm for Billy.

So Steve doesn’t say anything at swollen cheeks, bruised wrists, or red eyes.

But this? This was too much, enough to hover around and consider offering Billy to stay at his house. Full-time.

He doesn’t. Billy is a bit like a wild animal and all animals tend to lash out in the face of danger. This time danger being Steve getting involved in his family life. Billy wouldn’t agree anyway. 

He tries to go on with the evening as they usually would. Pretends it’s like one of those evenings when they spend four hours on rewriting Steve’s essay and like Steve is too emotionally exhausted to read subtitles. Like they are both just going to pretend to watch one of Steve’s tapes—or tapes Billy managed to rent somewhere—and Steve is going to curl under a blanket next to him, take in the comfort of Billy’s warm thighs under his own socked feet, imagine it’s something normal for them.

But he can’t. Billy feels distanced, sitting far enough from Steve that there will be no casual touches, so Steve brings him a cold beer and a fresh ice-pack, turns the TV on, not changing the channel even though there’s some telenovela on.

It’s just background noise. Well, for Billy, anyway. Steve remembers it used to help him focus, but his parents and grandma always couldn’t concentrate on it—Billy needs a distraction.

“Grab that ice bag or there will be no lunch for you, mister,” Steve tells him when he stares without doing anything.

Billy reaches for the beer instead, a smug grin that with his nose looks painful, present.

“Hargrove,” he growls.

“Just no, pretty boy,” he says, shrugging. “You can’t fucking read my lips with that stupid ice on my face.”

Steve feels something fond blooming in his chest—Billy’s thinking about everything before even Steve can. It has never happened before, not with doctors, not with his parents, not with his grandma, not with Nancy. It hurts a bit, realizing someone who cares enough to do that exists, that all this time Steve didn’t have too high expectations, that everything he ever asked for could be real.

He closes his eyes for a moment, waiting out the stinging, and shakes his head.

Catching Billy’s gaze, his hands move. He holds out palms up, shaped like claws, lowers them into flattened ‘o’ shape, and repeats it. Then, he taps his forehead with a V sign.

_SOFT IDIOT_

Because he is. They both are.

Billy responds with his middle finger. He sighs again, shaking his head at him, and reaches for the ice bag.

“No,” Billy repeats, placing it back on the coffee table, leaving a wet trail on his jeans. “This isn’t fair, by the way. I can’t say anything but _fuck you_ and yet you’re throwing insults right and left.”

Steve knows where this is going. It’s always going this way. “And?”

“You should teach me, at least a few of them.”

And here it is. It’s always the dirty words. Not a goddamn _hello_ , or _thank you_ or _sorry_ or _how are you_. Not even name-spelling, not a _S-T-E-V-E_ or _B-I-L-L-Y_. It’s always the fucking swear words or straight-up insults.

It’s not like Steve can have everything he wants, after all.

He scoots closer, tucks his leg under, and watches Billy’s grin widen, looking painful with that horrible black eye swelling up. Steve moves his arms up, deciding what will be first.

“Hit me with your best shot.”

Somehow, before Steve can think it through, he says, “Asshole,” and does a sign for _sweetheart_ instead.

Swear words _won’t_ be Billy’s first words in ASL, not when he can do something about it. It’s dumb and it’s probably going to bite him in the ass but Steve hates teaching swear words enough that he doesn’t care.

Billy does the double A handshape near the chest, extends his thumbs, and lowers them down—repeat Steve’s movement. It looks weirdly perfect for a first-time signing, Steve didn’t have to tell him to watch at what level he puts his hands, didn’t have to tell him the thumbs should move at the same time. Maybe he’s just that good—Billy always seemed smarter than he pretended to be.

He repeats the sign, grinning at Steve, saying, “Asshole.”

Steve looks at his hands when he repeats it, and repeats it, and imagines that Billy means it. That he means to say _sweetheart_ and nothing else.

Steve teaches him _sugar_ instead of _dick_. Leans in and tucks in Billy’s ring and pinky finger so he doesn’t sign _sweet_ , waits a bit too long before he lets go of his hand. The pads of his index and middle finger brush against his chin, bending at the knuckles in a double motion.

He does the sign again and Steve is hit with a memory of his ASL teacher signing it at his wife when Steve was thirteen. Remembers how his teacher told him, “It means _sugar_ or _cute_ ,” looking at his deaf wife like she held the world.

There aren’t that many pet names in sign. Most of them are made up by the couple, and the ones that aren’t have many translations in English— _sugar_ could be also a _sweetie_ , and _sweetheart_ is also _baby_ and sign for _sweet_ is _honey, sweetie,_ and basically anything that sounds sweet. 

Steve hasn’t used sign around anyone but his ASL teacher and speech therapist since he started high school. He didn’t really flirt before and he never thought he would need to, not with sign.

He shows Billy the sign for _sunshine_ instead of _idiot_. Makes the sprinkling motion on the level of his head, like the rays of sun sprinkling down on him. Wonders if Billy’s grin is as bright as Californian sunshine.

“Hey, could you call Hopper and say I will drive El home?”

It’s not an unusual request but Dustin still looks a bit suspicious. “Why?” he says and signs at the same time.

Steve looks away, fidgets with the dishtowel. He can’t hear the kids in the living room but from what he can see, Lucas and Mike are fighting again.

“I just need to talk to him,” he explains, sounding vague. The kids don’t need to know about Billy’s problems. From what Billy’s told him, Max knows, to some degree, but he doesn’t want her engaged in that.

El tugs on his sleeve, giving him a mild attack. “Worried,” she speaks up, doing a waving motion—clumsy version of _worry_.

Her lack of expression has been a bit of a problem when it comes to ASL, and Steve doesn’t know if this was a question or a statement.

Dustin is staring at him expectedly. Points at Steve, does a better version of _worry,_ and moves his index finger around flattened O handshape. 1

Steve flickers his hand at him, shaking his head  2, but El says, “Billy,” finger-spelling his name.

Dustin frowns, dramatic as ever, slamming a Y handshape into his open palm, and then the tips of his thumb and index finger touch, making 'o' shape.  3

“ _Dustin_ ,” he scolds. “Could you just call?” He moves a flat right in a circular motion over his chest 4, daring him to dwell on it more.

Dustin huffs, crossing his arms and says, clearly not finished, “We’re going to talk about it later.”

El tugs on his sleeve again and signs, _he okay._

Assuming she is talking about Billy, Steve ruffles her short hair, smiling faintly. “He will be. Don’t worry about it, sweetheart.”

The kids eat him out of his spinach lasagna—he didn’t tell them it was with spinach, they didn’t realize, if he told them it _was_ with spinach, they wouldn’t eat it, they are still kids, despite what they think—and Nancy and Jonathan pick up Will, Mike and Lucas, Billy picked up Max half an hour ago, still sporting a green bruise around his eye, and Steve is trying to pack Dustin into the car—not El, she’s an angel that doesn’t have a motor mouth and can actually listen to him—so he can take the both of them home.

He drives to Dustin first, mostly because it’s too dark and Steve feels like he’s a step closer to a car accident every time he tries to read Dustin’s lips.

Dustin gets out of the passenger seat and stays in the open door, the car light shining on his face, finger-spells _B-I-L-L-Y_ and points at himself, at Steve, and then his fisted hands, with index fingers out, move forward and back alternately. 5

Steve rolls his eyes, finger-guns with one hand, and smacks his open palm with a V handshape, saying, “Later, loser.”

El giggles in the backseat.

The moment Steve turns the engine off at Hop’s driveway—or the path that was supposed to resemble it—the lights in the kitchen of the cabin flicker and Hop himself, wearing an oversized coat and sweatpants steps out into the porch. Steve rarely takes El back to the house—he picks her up sometimes, to take her with the other kids, but she is mostly still hidden—so Hopper probably knows this is about _something_.

The lights on the porch are dim and Steve has enough trouble with Hop’s mustache as it is, so when El goes inside, she leaves the door open, the corridor light on.

“I gave Jane leftover lasagna for tomorrow,” he says, instead of a greeting.

Hopper nods, fumbling with his coat in search of cigarettes. When he finds them, he offers one to Steve—he always does, and Steve always says no because it always feels like a test.

He says something with a cigarette in between his lips and Steve frowns at him.

“Anyone giving you trouble, kid?” he repeats. They both know what he means—Hopper was there, that godawful night of the tunnels and he was the one who saw how people in the ER treated him.

Steve fidgets, wishing he could look anywhere but at Hop’s face.

“It’s about Billy.”

Hopper exhales, furrowing his eyebrows.

“Hargrove? He giving you trouble?”

“No,” he replies at once, staggering. “He’s my, uhm, study buddy at school. We’re friends. We’re cool, yeah.”

“Harrington, get to the point.”

Steve catches his eye, staring for a prolonged moment. “Could you, like, keep an eye on his home?”

Hopper takes the cigarette out of his mouth and Steve realizes he knows what it’s all about. He chooses Hopper out of all people he could ask for help because he knows he won’t just understand Billy—he used to _be_ Billy and he knows how fragile the situation can be. He knows the shame and the helplessness and he will not try to be a hero because he knows a hero is not someone Billy needs.

“Is this about that shiner I’ve seen him with this week?”

It is. It’s about the shiner, and bruised ribs Billy will never admit to, and about swollen cheeks, and broken nose, and about how Billy's knuckles are never bruised.

“Maybe,” he says, keeping it as vague as he can. “He would deny everything but—“

But it’s the truth. Hopper sighs, suddenly looking twenty years older, pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Is Max safe?” he asks, stubbing the cigarette in the ash try on the window sill.

Steve waits until he’s facing him again before answering, “Yeah, it seems so.”

“I can’t do anything unless he talks about it.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“I will send more patrols around his house,” Hopper continues, his face getting back to being stone cold. He looks as pleased about the conversation as Steve feels about it. “Try to ask the school to watch out for him.”

Steve nods, putting his hands in the pockets of his jeans. He can’t ask for more.

“Thanks, Hop.”

He stumbles back a step, ready to leave. The forest is creeping him out a bit, even with Hopper and El, and the cabin radiating warmth.

“Drive safely.”

The minute he says that, the curtains in the kitchen open and El stands in the window. Steve waves to her. Her expression stays blank, maybe a bit angry, very much like Hopper’s, but she places the fingers against her lips and then lowers it onto the back of her left hand, tips pointing down.

Steve signs a _goodnight_ back. To his surprise, Hopper signs a clumsy _night_ at him, not explaining anything, just getting back into the cabin.

Steve picks up Dustin the next day. He doesn’t say a word the whole way to school. If it was anyone else, Steve wouldn’t be surprised—it’s a five-minute drive and many people can just enjoy the silence for five minutes, especially when they find out Steve’s deaf. But it’s _Dustin._

They park under Hawkins High and Dustin still doesn’t say anything, not even noticing the car has stopped, just staring out into the window.

Steve smacks the dashboard twice, getting his attention.

“You okay, buddy?” he asks.

“Do you like him?” Dustin says out of nowhere. “Are you like Will?”

Steve is pretty sure he read something wrong. “Like Will?”

“You know...” He does a vague gesture with his hand, staring Steve dead in the face. “You know!”

“No, Dustin, I don’t know,” he says calmly. “You actually have to tell me.”

Dustin exhales, looking as frustrated as Steve feels, and starts finger-spelling.

 _Q-U-E-E-R_.

Steve blinks at him, panic settling in. “What?”

“I’ve been thinking all night,” Dustin starts and the whole sentence doesn’t bode well, _Dustin_ and _thinking_. “And it just makes sense, the clinginess, the moon eyes, the _I don’t have time, Dustin_. You—“

Dustin cuts himself off, looking at the busy parking lot around them and signs _like_ twice, as if one wasn’t strong enough, and finger-spells _B-I-L-L-Y_.

Steve can feel his face getting warm, can feel his heart trying to escape his ribcage.

“ _Dustin_ ,” he says. “Please, let's just forget this conversation.”

“No! I can understand you being, you _know_ , but did you have to like _him_ in particular?” “Hell, even Will with his stupid crush on Mike is better!”

Steve closes his eyes, hitting the wheel with his forehead. He sighs a couple of times, trying to calm down the redness of his face and ignores Dustin shaking his shoulder.

Taking a deep breath, he says, “First of all, you don’t just out someone like that. What if I wasn’t _like Will_ , huh?”

Dustin, of course, focuses on the wrong thing, “So you _are_ like Will!”

“ _Dustin_.”

“I mean, it’s totally okay that you’re, you _know_ ,” Dustin adds as if Steve didn’t already want to sink into the ground and never look at him again. “It’s just, it’s _Billy Hargrove._ He’s an asshole and Max says he’s a pain in the ass and he _beat you up in November_.” He says it so fast that if not for him simultaneity throwing in a word or two he knows in sign, Steve wouldn’t have an idea what he was ranting about.

“I was an asshole too, remember?”

Steve wonders when his life became defending his gay crush to his almost-adopted younger brother who forced an outing out of him.

“But you aren’t anymore,” he protests. “And he still is.”

“Listen, Dustin, I will say only once and I want you to remember it and think again,” Steve decides. “Billy is seventeen, okay? Despite what we tell you all the time, we’re still kids too, we can make mistakes. There are things you don’t know about him, or me, or the situation, and it may not excuse him but it changes a lot. I forgave him, Lucas forgave him, Max is his sister, she’s going to complain about him no matter what. It’s not all black and white.” 

“But—”

“He does so many things no one has ever done for me, Dustin,” Steve interrupts before he gets into another rant. “He cares.”

“Just because everyone you met was shitty doesn’t mean you should settle for the first decent person,” Dustin hisses.

He tells him the truth. “He makes me feel normal. He makes me happy, Dustin.”

Dustin stares at him, taking in what Steve is sure is pure fondness on his face, and his shoulders sag.

“Are you, like—” he begins and then finger-spells, _T-O-G-E-T-H-E-R_.

Steve gives him a humorless laugh. “No,” he admits. “That’s why I want you to never talk about it again, Billy’s as straight as they come and we’ll always be just friends.”

Dustin frowns, wrinkling his nose. “Are you sure? We both saw the pants he wears, right? And Max says he has more hair products than you—”

Steve hits him upside the head and Dustin tries to hit him back. They laugh it off until Dustin realizes the school bell has already rung a couple of minutes before.

1\. _Points at Steve, does a better version of_ worry _, and moves his index finger around flattened O handshape_ —Translation: What you worried about? Signs: worry/worried, about. ASL is about being fast and short, so a lot of stuff is in the expression or context, like here.

2\. _Steve flickers his hand at him, shaking his head_ —Translation: Nevermind/Forget it. It's more of a gesture we all use than an official sign.

3. _Dustin frowns, dramatic as ever, slamming a Y handshape into his open palm, and then the tips of his thumb and index finger touch, making 'o' shape_ —Translation: That asshole. Signs are the same, _that_ is used for emphasis but it could be just repeating the word _asshole_.

4\. _He moves a flat right in a circular motion over his chest_ —Translation/sign: please.

5\. _finger-spells_ B-I-L-L-Y _and points at himself, at Steve, and then his fisted hands, with index fingers out, move forward and back alternately—_ Talk (as in, have a conversation). Translation: We'll talk about Billy (later).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone wants to know, Dustin's signed name is a combination of D handshape and brain (like _the brain_ , bc Steve thinks Dustin's the brain of the group) and when Steve feels irritated he adds another two signs and it becomes _the shit for brains_  
>  El's is a motion of a circle done with a little finger (for letter J) and a flickering index finger (for eleven) so it's both Jane and El at once.
> 
> I have another chapter almost finished but it's in my notebook and re-writing it with my currently broken thumb is going to take some time... I've been thinking about joining Tumblr again bc I have some unfinished or super short fics but I don't know if anyone would be interested?? 
> 
> Btw I spent an hour looking at bruise cream brands bc I use the off-brand ones and I freaking don’t know what Americans use and couldn’t figure out what is the most common so I just called it a bruise cream  
> Also, yes, I teach all my English friends pet names instead of insults.
> 
> Thanks for reading everyone! Any feedback is appreciated!

**Author's Note:**

> _If you see any mistakes, typos or other annoying things, do tell me. English is only my second language and words tend to be messed up by me._


End file.
